


And the Moonbeams Kissed the Sea

by Theatregirl7299



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatregirl7299/pseuds/Theatregirl7299
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archeologist Peter Burke has recently uncovered an amazing - and history changing - fresco on the walls of an ancient ruin on the Aegean island of Santorini. Neal, a prince from a long-hidden kingdom, spies Peter during a forbidden visit to the island.  As their feelings grow, danger lurks, threatening both men's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – After real life issues and the Muse not cooperating I FINALLY got this done. It would not have been possible without the help and encouragement of [ elrhiarhodan](elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com), [ miri_thompson](miri_thompson.livejournal.com) and [ firesign10](firesign10.livejournal.com). You cheered me on, kicked my butt, warred with me, and promised me that I would fall in love with the story again when I was ready to give up and drop out. I mean it when I say there is as much of you in this as there is me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> And to my Artist – Niolle. Your beautiful image inspired the basis for this story and for that I thank you.
> 
>   
>   
> 

**Prologue – a year earlier.**

  
_New Scrolls Reveal Depth of Minoan Culture_

Ismail Serageldin, Director of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, announced today the discovery of thousands of scrolls in what could be an annex of the famed ancient Library of Alexandria. The room was uncovered during a routine inspection of underground natural gas pipelines outside the city of Alexandria, Egypt. Historians estimate the collection to contain over five thousand scrolls, preserved in clay jars. These scrolls are considered to be the most significant historical find since the discovery of the Dead Sea scrolls in 1946. Preliminary investigation indicates the scrolls contain a mix of scientific and literary masterpieces long thought to be lost when the Royal Library of Alexandria was destroyed. 

Additionally, historians believe that a majority of the scrolls contain information concerning the Minoan culture. which arose on the island of Crete and flourished from approximately 2700 to 1450 BC, only to be devastated by what is commonly known as ‘The Thera Eruption.’

“We are excited to explore what is definitely one of the most pivotal historical discoveries in modern times,” said Serageldin. He went on to say that several museums and universities have set up a partnership to study the scrolls and share information. “The translations of these scrolls will change the way we look at ancient history, the Minoans in particular, and by combining our efforts, we can provide a more in-depth look at a culture that has long been a mystery.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Present day**

“Jones, can you get me a trowel?” Peter Burke stood and stretched, his back twinging as he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. Cracking the cap, he took a long drink before surveying his work area.

Ancient walls rose two and three stories high. Amphorae and clay pots lined the edges, some still with traces of the pressed olive oil that had been stored inside. Layers of ash and pumice protected the secrets that had been hidden for thousands of years. 

Akrotiri – the city believed to be the inspiration for Plato’s Atlantis story.

He couldn’t believe they were really here. That the university had actually gotten the funding to be part of this team of archeologists, discovering new information about the Minoan society that existed here with every building they uncovered. 

Peter gazed at the rock walls defining the homes and shops and imagined what it must have been like when the town was thriving: children playing in the streets, townspeople going about their daily tasks, traders selling their wares. Ordinary people leaving their imprint for future explorers like him to find. 

They were lucky. The South Building, where they'd been assigned, was fairly untouched – most of the excavation had centered on the Delta Complex. Peter had gotten the area in the Xeste 4 sector sectioned off a few weeks ago, and he and Jones had made progress on two of the walls. 

The air from the ventilation system kept kicking up little swirls of dust every time it turned on, but Peter was grateful for the structure that had been built to cover the dig site. It kept the sun off them and allowed them to work through the occasional rainfall.

“Here you go.” Jones handed him the tool he'd asked for. “How’s it going?”

Peter grinned. “Good. I think I found something under the west wall just now. Let’s go check it out.” Peter crouched down next to the area he’d told Jones about. Using both the trowel and a soft brush, he began clearing away the dirt and ash. 

Slowly he revealed the treasure underneath. It was a fresco – the blues and yellows and reds emerging from the dust. Peter began to uncover what looked like images of people, animals, and ships exposed for the first time in over a millennia. 

Peter lost track of time as they worked at clearing away the ash that had covered the town over three thousand years ago. Hours later he stepped back and put his hand on Jones’ shoulder.

“Look…” 

In front of them was the fresco, a small corner revealed, its colors as vibrant and strong as though it had been created yesterday. Two groups of people were facing each other. Beads, cloth, and foodstuffs were in the hands of several of the individuals. There were clay jars at their feet, echoing the actual jars stacked against the walls of the excavation. They were dressed in shades of red and gold. Images of lilies and crocuses edged one side of the fresco, their blooms bursting with color. 

The other group was framed by dolphins jumping the crests of the ocean waves, tall stands of kelp, their deep green hues practically lifelike. They had offerings from the sea surrounding them. Oysters with pearls of every color, a multitude of fish, what looked like carved coral art. Peter was awestruck at the vibrant colors of their garb. They were dressed in robes of deep blue and purple – a color that reflected royalty – with edging that looked like gold thread. Necklaces, cuffs, earrings – all reflected a rich culture that the locals were trading with. One that Peter was sure he had only seen evidence of in his research in one place. Alexandria. 

Peter’s heart started racing. The references in the scrolls that he had Diana studying had mentioned a mysterious sea-based culture that had traded with the inhabitants of Akrotiri. This could be what he’d been looking for. 

“Peter, it’s a…”

“…a trading party.” Peter finished Jones’ sentence. He gingerly stepped over the debris from the rockslide to get a closer look. Reaching out a hand, he stopped just short of touching the fresco. The colors were even more vibrant up close. His eyes were drawn to a figure in the royal grouping.

Dark hair, deep blue eyes, slender build. The figure was ethereally beautiful. Peter couldn’t take his gaze off the young man on the wall. He felt a low level buzz of arousal pooling in his belly and chuckled. He’d been spending way too much time on dig sites if he was getting hard just from looking at a painting.

“Peter.” Jones’ voice broke him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah?” 

“Take a look down at the bottom.” Jones pointed past Peter’s shoulder to an area that was still partially obscured. “Down there.”

Peter crouched down and examined where Jones had pointed. He could make out words above the spot. Ancient Minoan. 

_“Με τους αδελφούς μας κάτω από τη θάλασσα , μοιραζόμαστε γενναιοδωρία μας. Όλα χαλάζι στην Ατλαντίδα , αιώνια φίλους.”_

The words were placed right above a small panel of the fresco depicting the ocean waves and figures swimming amongst the dolphins. But there was something off about the body shapes. 

With rising excitement, he motioned to Jones. “Hand me a brush!” He grabbed the item that Jones held out to him. Working quickly but carefully, Peter removed the dirt from the area. What he revealed made his heart leap. He translated the ancient words in a low whisper. “With our brothers under the sea, we share our bounty. All hail to Atlantis, eternal friends.”

“Peter, that’s not a dolphin.” Jones’ voice was hushed, disbelief in his tone.

“No, Clinton, it’s not.” He grinned at his partner. “It’s a mermaid.”

@*@*@*@*@

Later that evening they Skyped Diana to fill her in on their discovery of the day. He couldn’t help but grin as he set up the connection. He knew she would be as excited as he was. As he waited for her to answer him, he uploaded the pictures he took that afternoon to the secure server they used.

 _“Hey boss, what’s up?”_ Her voice sounded tinny over the connection, but her smile was as bright as always.

“Oh, nothing much. Just checking in. Seeing how things are going.” Peter intentionally made his tone blasé, knowing full well that she would pick up on it. 

_“Uh huh. What’s going on?”_ She sounded skeptically amused. 

“What? I can’t call my favorite research assistant just because?” He chuckled at Jones’ snort.

_“Right. I heard Clinton laughing behind you. Besides, you never call me with that tone of voice just because.”_ He could hear her inhale. _“You found something!”_

“We found something. Go check the server.” He popped the top off a beer and waited for her reaction. .

_“Oh my God, Peter!”_ Her excitement radiated through the phone. _“These are incredible.”_

“They are.” He’d sent her several overall photos as well as close ups of the portion of the fresco with the mermaids. Mer people, he corrected himself.

_“Peter…”_ The tone of her voice shifted from simple excitement to something else. _“Peter…I think I’ve seen these before. Or something close to them.”_

“What do you mean?” Peter felt his stomach drop. “Di, nothing like this has been published before. We’d have known it.”

_“Hang on.”_ She left her chair, the camera pointing to a blank white wall. He heard her shuffling books and papers, a thud and a loud curse, then the sound of the old scanner she had in her apartment. She was back, a huge grin on her face. _“Things have been so busy here that I haven’t had a chance to call you. You wouldn't believe what Blake just sent from the library excavation. He thought you might be interested.”_

His email chimed with an incoming message. When he opened it, he found several attachments labeled ‘scroll pictures’. He opened the first one to find a shot of a papyrus. Faded and crumbling, the center of it was a drawing of a group of boats. The people on them were relaxed, their garb celebratory. A pleasure cruise.

Surrounding them were individuals swimming, some with legs, others clearly had tails. To the side of the drawing were rocks complete with Mer people sunning themselves. 

His excitement rising, Peter clicked on another picture. This time there were Mer people framing a passage written in what he was sure was ancient Greek. The words were faded to the point that he was having trouble reading the segment Diana sent him. 

“Diana, do you have a better shot of the words?”

She chuckled. _“I knew you were going to ask that. Check out the next picture.”_

He clicked on the third image and brought up a high-resolution capture of the passage. Perfect--and he didn't even need his damned Liddell-Scott to translate it. 

It was a contract. A trading contract. Between the inhabitants of Akrotiri and the Mer people. Descriptions of items only available from the depths of the ocean, woven goods from the Minoans, jewelry and art similar to what Peter and Jones had seen on the fresco.

He read further, marveling at the intricacies of the terms, how often they traded and for what items. The language was lyrical as it reflected the honor and respect between the two different races. 

Peter's brain stopped as the full impact of what he was reading hit him. No one made such detailed trade contracts like this with beings that only existed in their mythology. 

The Mer were real--or they had been in the age of the Minoans. And now he had proof.

@*@*@*@*@

_Court business was boring._ Neal shifted in his seat, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. His father, the King looked over at him with a frown and a subtle shake of his head. Neal straightened up and put on an interested face as the emissary from the North Sea droned on and on about the two-legged and their insatiable need for albacore tuna.

His father returned his attention to the presentation. Neal was happy it was not his responsibility yet to have to make a decision on this matter. He watched his father look interested and ask questions and marveled at his patience. King Reese was definitely a master at the art of court business.

Neal sighed to himself and looked around for Mozzie, his personal advisor. Maybe if he caught his eye, Moz could come up with an excuse as to why he had to leave the council room. No luck. The little man was nowhere to be found. Neal let his mind wander again, this time thinking about the two-legs.

All his life he’d heard stories of the humans who lived above the water. Of their art, their music, their cities that reached up towards the sun. Of their ability to fly in the air, their creations of iron that allowed them to travel across the ground.

The one time he’d been part of a trading party was a moment he treasured. His father spoke a few words in the old tongue and instantly their tails had transformed to legs, and they had been able to walk on solid ground. Listening to the music, watching the joy in the human faces as his people traded items only available in the depths of the ocean. Tasting their food, playing with their children. Learning about their culture.

Neal was startled by his father’s voice. “What do you think, Neal?”

_Oh gods._ Neal had no clue what had been said or what question he was supposed to reply to. He pasted a big smile on his face. “Oh, I defer to your experience, your Majesty.” Hoping that would cover the fact that he had not been paying attention again.

“Hmmm.” His father gave him another, more piercing look before turning to the man in front of them. “Emissary, I’ll take your concerns under advisement. I think that’s all for today. Council is adjourned.”

Neal rose from his chair, intent on escaping as quickly as possible.

“Neal.” The King put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face his father, knowing full well he was going to get the lecture about not paying attention and how he needed to be part of the day to day workings of the court. 

“I know, I know. I need to pay attention,” he said, wanting to forestall the discussion. “But tuna? Really?”

His father chuckled. “You should know that some parts of ruling are less interesting than others, and I have to admit, that was one of them.” They exited the council room. “However, that doesn’t mean that you can’t give the boring parts the same respect as the exciting ones. The emissary comes from the North Sea, which is one of our allies, and we have to play nice, no matter how dull it can get.” The King slanted an eye at Neal. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir. No more yawning in the council room.”

“Exactly. Now if you would, go tell your mother that the emissary will be staying for dinner and is allergic to sea moss.” The King smiled. “And no, you don’t have to attend.”

“Thank you!” Neal mock bowed to his father and quickly flicked his tail as he headed in the other direction. There was no way he was going to make it through dinner if he’d had to listen to more of the emissary’s mundane opinions. 

He swam through the corridors looking for Mozzie, ignoring the admiring glances the court’s Angelfish were giving him. Their flirty smiles and coy looks were as artificial as their coloring – designed to entice in hopes of catching his attention. He’d learned long ago that there usually was no substance to their shiny scales. 

Unfortunately, there were times when he couldn’t avoid speaking to them, especially when it was the wife of one of his father’s advisors, her insipid children in tow.

“Your highness! I was hoping I’d run into you today!” Lady Prunella coasted up to him, her son and daughter trailing behind like strands of dead seaweed.

“Lady Prunella.” He inclined his head, trying to keep a polite tone of voice, wishing he’d managed to turn the corner before she saw him. 

“I wanted to ask you about this weekend’s festivities. Do you plan to attend?” She clutched his arm, fingers tightening like an octopus tentacle. 

“Um…I haven’t decided yet.” Frantically Neal looked around for some way to escape, but there was no one around that he could claim he was meeting. “I’m not sure what my schedule is like.”

“Oh but you have to!” She gripped tighter and Neal winced as her nails dug into his skin. “Marissa and Endicott would just be devastated if they were unable to have a dance with you.” Lady Prunella leaned in to whisper. “As would I…” She batted her eyes and giggled. 

Neal shuddered at the thought of dancing with her. He was just about to speak when he heard Mozzie’s voice behind him.

“There you are, your highness! I’ve been looking for you. You’re late for your next appointment.” Mozzie swam up and bowed. “Lady Prunella, I do apologize, but the prince has somewhere to be.” He deftly untangled her hands from Neal’s arm. “Court business and all that.”

“Oh, of course!” Lady Prunella waved a hand. “Go, go. But I hope we will see you this weekend.” She simpered and giggled again.

“Oh I’m sure you will…” Mozzie answered over his shoulder as he led Neal away. “…not,” he muttered to Neal as they quickly turned the corner.

“Oh gods, thank you!” Neal leaned against the wall and sighed in relief. “Since I turned down her daughter, I was afraid she was going to offer up her son to me.”

“At least she didn’t start laughing. I swear she sounds like a constipated sea cow when she does that.” Honking, Mozzie imitated her, sending Neal into peals of laughter.

“Stop!” Weakly, Neal waved at his friend. “Oh gods, that’s too funny.” Gulping, he calmed himself. “Let’s get out of here before she decides to come back.”

They hurried through the main wing of the kástro, side-swimming servants carrying baskets of food, pages on their errands and soldiers guarding the various dignitaries.

“I need to let my mother know that the emissary is staying for dinner, which we don’t have to attend.” Neal knocked lightly and entered his mother’s chamber. The Queen was seated at her desk, dictating correspondence to her secretary.

“Neal, darling.” She rose gracefully, her fins iridescent in the glow of the bioluminescent lights. “And Mozzie.” She dismissed her secretary with a wave. 

“Your Majesty.” Mozzie bowed as Neal kissed her cheek.

“Mother.” He hugged her. “Just came to give you fair warning that the emissary is coming for dinner, he’s allergic to sea moss, and the King gave me a pass.” He grinned slyly at her. “So unfortunately, that means you have to listen to his big fish stories without me.”

The Queen sighed. “He _is_ insufferable. I’d add the moss to the salad if your father would let me get away with it. I heard that he turns into a sunfish if he consumes even a morsel.”

“I’d stay for that.” Neal chuckled.

“So what do you have planned, since you don’t have to suffer through dinner?” The Queen glided over to the armoire and flipped through several outfits.

“Not sure.” Neal shook his head as she pulled out a black tunic trimmed in red and held it up for his opinion. “I think Mozzie and I will grab something from the kitchen and head out to the square. Get away from the palace for a while. That one,” he said, pointing to the emerald green outfit she chose next.

“Be careful, dear. And make sure you take a guard with you.” She put the clothes on the bed. “Now shoo…I need to speak to the chef about the menu.”

They said their goodbyes and left the Queen to her planning.

As they headed to Neal’s quarters, he could feel Mozzie looking at him, silent until they were behind closed doors.

“We’re not going to the square, are we?” Mozzie walked over to the wine cabinet and chose a _veloúdino kókkino._ He uncorked the deep red wine and poured himself a glass.

“Nope.” Neal removed his Court attire and changed into a simple linen shirt and vest. 

“And we’re not taking a guard wherever we are going.” Mozzie made that a statement, not a question.

“Nope,” Neal said again, swimming over and accepting the glass of wine Mozzie had poured for him.

“Do I want to know?”

Neal chuckled at Mozzie’s tone. He swam to the open balcony doors and leaned against the frame. Turning to his friend, he grinned and pointed up. Mozzie looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened and he started to shake his head frantically.

“No! No way! We are not going to the surface. Neal, you know it’s not allowed. You're royal and only allowed to go to surface once.” Mozzie gulped his wine and filled his glass again. “If we get caught…”

“We won’t get caught, Moz.” 

“Yes. Yes we will.” Mozzie took off his glasses and started cleaning them frantically on the hem of his shirt. “We will get caught and I will get thrown in the Trench. No one ever comes back from the Trench, Neal!” 

“Relax, Moz. We won’t get thrown in the Trench because we won’t get caught.” Neal pushed himself off the doorjamb and put a reassuring hand on Mozzie’s shoulder. “It’s just a quick trip to the surface. Up and back. No one will know.”

“Yes they will!” They always know!”

“They won’t. Trust me.” Neal grinned at his friend. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“There was that one time with the Siren…” Mozzie began.

“Hey, I didn’t know she was married.” Neal set his glass down on the table. “Other than that?”

“No..,” Mozzie said slowly. “But I still think this is a bad idea. There’s a reason why your father’s banned trips to the surface after you've made your rite of passage. It’s dangerous for the humans to see us.”

“I’ll be careful, I swear. We’ll surface somewhere that’s not obvious. And we’ll go tonight during the dinner. Everyone will be occupied then. C’mon, Moz, it’ll be fun.” Neal’s voice was coaxing. “Please?”

His friend sighed and Neal knew he’d agree. “Okay, fine. But only for a short trip and only this once.” He shook his head. “And we disguise ourselves.”

“Thank you!” Neal squeezed Mozzie’s shoulder. “Meet me here at eight and we’ll head out through the tunnels,” he said, referring to the sub-basement in the palace. “And be thinking of a spot to go visit.”

“The things I do for you,” Mozzie grumbled as he headed out into the hallway.

Neal smiled as he shut the door. He lay down on his bed and considered their evening’s adventure.

His single trip to the surface was enough to give him the desire to go back, to see the humans and learn about them. He didn’t understand why his father had put a ban on visiting the two-legged. The punishment was harsh – time in the Trench. 

But he wasn’t going to visit them, really - he just wanted to see them. Watch what they did, how they moved. He didn’t plan on actually interacting with them. So he wasn’t technically going against his father’s orders. Just bending them a bit.

Neal thought back on his visit, remembering the laughter and the joy that seemed to be the hallmark of humanity. The pride they showed in their creations – even those that were so destructive to the Mer and the rest of the creatures of the sea. His eyes closed as he relived the sounds of their music, the taste of their food and wine, the laughter of their children.

Sleep took him as he dreamed of yellow sun, blue skies and green hills.

@*@*@*@*@

The breeze coming in over the ocean brought a hint of cool as Peter and Jones finished their dinner. Peter grabbed the last of the loukoumades, popping it in his mouth and licking his fingers clean of the honey and walnuts that the fried pastries were rolled in. He groaned as he stretched. “I can’t eat any more.”

Jones chuckled at him. “You sure about that? I think Madame Gianakos might have some leftover moussaka in the kitchen.”

Peter gave him a mock glare. “You are an evil man, Clinton.”

“I can’t help that she’s sweet on you.” Jones tilted his head towards the hotel office where the woman in question was working.

“She’s not staring at us is she?” Peter hesitated to look. Ever since they’d checked in, the owner’s sister had gone out of her way to put herself in Peter’s path. From extra towels to specialty foods and wine, she’d shown her interest, even though Peter told her brother that he wasn’t attracted to women. Mr. Gianakos had just laughed and told him that his sister swore she could change his mind. 

“No, you’re in luck this time. She’s checking in a new guest.” Jones poured himself a fresh glass of wine and motioned to Peter’s glass. “A man.”

Holding it up for a refill, Peter chuckled. “Is it wrong to hope that the new guest captures her attention?”

“Nope,” Jones replied with an answering chuckle. 

Peter sighed and sipped his wine. Looking out over the darkening ocean, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. What they had found today at the site just confirmed his theory that mermaids – Mer _people_ \- actually existed at some point in time. Maybe not now, maybe not for a long time, but once. He couldn’t wait to get back to work tomorrow and uncover more of the fresco.

“I know that sigh. What’s on your mind, Peter?” Jones picked at the remnants of his spanakopita.

“Just thinking of the fresco. What it means historically.” Peter leaned forward, his face excited. “Clinton, we may have just proved all the fairytales and sailor’s stories true.” He thumped the table lightly. “Can you imagine – definitive proof that Mer people were real. That _Atlantis_ was real.” 

“Plato got it right after all.” 

“Yes, yes he did. And we get to tell the world!” Peter raised his glass. “A toast.” 

“To Plato, mermaids….” Clinton began. 

“To Atlantis…” Peter added. 

“And to re-writing the course of history.” Clinton finished the toast.

“Amen!” They clinked glasses and Peter drank deep.

“And with that, Peter. I have a date.” Jones checked his watch. “I have just enough time to get to the bar.” 

“Going out with Phaidra again?” The look of happy embarrassment on Jones’ face made Peter chuckle. His partner had spent most of his downtime with the professor who was working at the dig with them.

“She promised me she’d show me her research.” Clinton pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Peter grinned at Jones’ snort. 

Jones straightened his shirt. “Don’t wait up for me.” 

“Hadn’t planned to.” Peter waved his hand. “Go, have fun.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think I’m going to enjoy a quiet walk on the shore and then try to avoid Madame Gianakos.”

“Good plan. See you tomorrow then.” Peter finished his wine as he watched Jones walk off towards town.

Sighing, Peter stood up and headed for the shore. Stepping off the stone stairs, he heard the lava crunching under his feet. He paused to pet the ginger cat that seemed to have taken a liking to him before making his way to the deck chairs. Peter sat to take off his shoes and roll up his pants legs before gingerly walking to the water’s edge.

The waves nudged the shore, breaking around his feet. Grinning, he wriggled them, enjoying the warmth of the water as it wrapped around his toes. Peter waded in a bit more until the water was up to his ankles. He breathed deep, the sea air filling his lungs.

The sun was sending its last rays across the water, tipping the whitecaps with a golden hue. Peter gazed out over the ocean, a small smile playing across his face, letting the crash of the waves play a subtle soundtrack to the thoughts in his head.

He pictured a small trading party waiting at the water’s edge, waiting in anticipation for their counterparts to rise from the sea. In his fantasy, the waters stirred as the group appeared, sluicing off their perfectly toned physiques. Peter imagined them passing him on their way to the shore, dark hair like seal pelts drying in the warm breeze. He raised his hand as though he could actually touch them, then paused – he didn’t want the illusion to shatter. 

The humans greeted their guests with bows. They provided majestically woven robes with images of the Mer and sea creatures trimmed in gold thread as well as comfortable footwear along with dried fruits and canisters of wine. They would be familiar with each other, Peter was certain, having traded many times in the past.

One of the Mer people in his invention came into focus – young, smiling and beautiful. He reminded Peter of the man depicted on the fresco. Dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes. The man stepped forward and offered the leader of the humans a parcel wrapped in sealskin. The human smiled as he took the package, unwrapping it to reveal - .

A movement from the rocks off to the side caught his eye, breaking Peter’s reverie. Squinting, he thought he saw a figure backlit in the setting sun. The mist of the waves hitting the rocks obscured his vision, but he could swear it was a man. Maybe one of the tourists had made their way over from Red Beach. 

As the sun fell over the horizon, Peter saw the form move; flipping what he swore was a large tail, its sapphire scales catching the last bit of light before disappearing into the waves. 

He shook his head, trying to comprehend what he saw. It must have been his fantasy coupled with the last of the wine from dinner. There was no way it could have been a Mer.

_Could it?_

The sun was gone and all he could see was the whitecaps breaking against the rocks. It must have been an illusion. He really needed to get to bed.

Slowly making his way out of the water, Peter dried his feet on the cushions of the lounge chair and slipped into his shoes. Walking back to the hotel, he turned and looked out over the ocean, searching – for what he wasn’t sure.

He saw nothing. The sea was calm, silent, sharing none of her secrets.

Chuckling quietly at his fantasies, he headed to his room to get settled. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

@*@*@*@*@

Neal dove down, his belly brushing the underwater sand, his heart pumping. The two-legged _saw_ him! Steadying himself, he searched for Mozzie in the dark depths.

He found his friend swimming back and forth in agitation. “Neal, what the hell did you do?” Mozzie stopped and stared at him in horror. “He saw you! The two-legged saw you!”

“No, he didn’t.” Neal hoped he didn’t. “We’re fine.”

“No, we are not fine. A human saw you, Neal. Now all the rumors are going to start up again. You saw what happened in Israel!” 

Neal frowned, remembering the debacle of the sightings in Kiryat Yam. His cousin thought it would be a good idea to go sunbathing on the rocks. One sighting and several videos later, the humans had put out a million dollar reward for video or capture of a Mer, and his father had sent her to the Trench for months. 

“That’s not going to happen since no one knows we’re here. Plus I don’t think he saw us.” 

“But you don’t know for sure.” Mozzie began to ramp up. “He’ll tell someone and then they’ll come looking and it will be a disaster of epic proportions!”

“Calm down, Moz. It won’t get that way. Trust me.” Neal started swimming towards the palace, motioning Mozzie to follow. 

“You don’t know that!” Mozzie’s voice took an ominous tone.

“Okay fine.” Neal stopped and waited for his friend to catch up. “Use your connections and find out who he is, and if he tells anyone that he saw me. Saw a merman." Neal was one of the few who knew that Mozzie had a secret network of informants that provided him with information to pass on to the King if needed.

“And how do you expect me to do that?” Mozzie frowned at him. “We weren’t supposed to be at the surface to begin with. And besides, how am I supposed to get that information about someone if I don’t know what he looks like.”

“I’ll draw you a picture. Just please do it, okay?” Neal wasn’t above begging in this case. 

Mozzie sighed. “Fine. But I want to get back to the palace before anything else happens.” He swam off, tail pumping, leaving Neal floating in the warm sea.

Sighing, Neal followed, knowing his friend was upset. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten so close but he couldn’t help it. The sound of the music, the smell of the air, the lights on shore – it had drawn him close to the beach like a Siren song.

Then he’d found the human at the water’s edge, the setting sun casting light and shadow on his form, making him look almost surreal.

Neal couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

His dark hair, ruffled in the sea breeze. He’d been dressed in some sort of soft fabric – linen Neal remembered it was called – a russet shirt and off white pants, highlighting his long legs and wide shoulders. 

He’d rolled up the pants and was standing in the ocean, letting the water wash over his feet. He’d looked serene, gazing out onto the water.

But it was his smile that left Neal breathless. Glowing, a promise in his upturned lips. Neal wanted to know what was going on in the man’s head to put such a look on his face. He’d watched, fascinated, as the human turned, his body shifting like he was seeing something. Something that was only in his imagination. His hand raised as though he was about to touch something – someone?

Neal had leaned in to get a better look when suddenly the rock under his hand had shifted and he’d slid forward. The human’s head jerked up and he’d turned towards Neal’s hiding place.

Ducking down, Neal had flipped and plunged into the waves, praying that he’d not been seen. Wanting desperately to go back, knowing it would be the absolutely worst thing that he could do.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Mozzie’s “We’re here.”

Looking around, Neal realized they were in the tunnels underneath the palace. He had no recollection of how he’d gotten there. 

“I’m going to change and while I’m gone, you should probably sketch the two-legged for me.” With a flick of his tail, Mozzie was gone, leaving Neal alone in the tunnels. 

Sighing, he navigated the passageways until he arrived at the hidden door closest to his chambers. Slipping through the entrance, he let himself into his rooms and headed over to his art supplies. 

Quickly he sketched the human’s face for Mozzie to take to his contacts. Putting it aside, he pulled another piece of drawing paper closer and started another sketch.

This one was more detailed. He worked to capture the sun in the distance, the human’s face in a half smile. Neal closed his eyes, imagining the curve of his jaw, the wideness of his chest as the wind pressed his shirt against his torso. He wondered what it would feel like to run his hands against the human’s body, so different from the ones he was used to seeing.

Neal shaded in the human’s eyes, crinkling at the corners, created the clean lines of his arms and tried not to think about them wrapping themselves around him. 

When he was finished, he looked at the drawing, his mouth dry. The human was beautiful and Neal realized that no matter what the risk, he was going to see this man again. 

Hiding it between half-finished sketches of a sea anemone and a sunken galleon, Neal went in search of Mozzie, his mind planning ways to sneak to the surface so he could see the human - _his_ human – again.

@*@*@*@*@

The next morning Peter and Jones were able to uncover more the fresco. As each bit of color was revealed, it provided more and more certainty that the ancient inhabitants truly believed that they were trading with Mer people. The edging around the main image highlighted underwater scenes of everyday life: families eating together, young men engaged in athletic sports, workers in fields of seaweed and kelp, and what looked like a throne room where a thin grey-haired man was holding court. Next to him was the dark-haired man from the trading image.

It looked like the figure - _merman?_ \- he’d seen the night before. Peter shook his head and chuckled. He was letting his imagination run away with him again

“What’s so funny?” Jones paused from where he was brushing off a section of wall.

“Nothing…” Peter gazed at the fresco again. “Just...thought I saw something last night. When I stopped by the water’s edge.”

“What?” 

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Peter took a deep breath. “I thought I saw a mermaid.”

Jones snorted. He grinned when Peter glared at him. “Not laughing, Peter…just. You sure it wasn’t the Ouzo?”

“Yes, I’m sure it wasn’t the Ouzo.”

“So what happened?” Jones sat back on his haunches and wiped his forehead with a bandana.

“I decided to take a walk down by the shore,” Peter began, and shared what had happened the night before. “It could have been the light, but I swear I saw something.”

“Could have been a dolphin. They’re rare around here, but I know they’ve been spotted occasionally.” Jones grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one to Peter.

“Yeah, or a swimmer from Red Beach.” Peter uncapped the bottle and took a swig.

“True.” Jones grinned at him. “But the real question is, was he pretty?”

Blue eyes, dark hair and a muscled chest flashed through Peter’s mind. He grinned back at Jones. “Something like that.” 

“Well maybe one day you’ll get lucky and find your own little merman and live happily ever after.” 

“Yeah, right.” Peter pointed a finger at Jones. “Disney never made THAT movie. Besides, I was always partial to Sebastian. He had the best songs.”

Jones’ laughter echoed throughout the dig site as they went back to work.


	3. Chapter 2

“His name is Peter Burke, he’s an archeologist and he’s working on the Akrotiri dig.” 

Mozzie tossed a file to Neal. Opening it, he saw a picture of the man on the beach, along with pages of information. He skimmed it, raising an eyebrow. Burke had gone to Harvard. Neal knew from Mozzie’s occasional spying on the humans that this was one of the best and most competitive human schools. Interesting - he’d received his Masters and Doctorate in Classical and Mediterranean Archeology. Neal smiled. The two-legged was smart. 

Neal liked smart.

“Single, lives in New York City, teaches at Columbia….” Neal flipped through the file. “Moz, where did you get this information?”

“Eh, a friend of a friend knows a pigeon who hangs out in the Classics department at the University in Athens. It was easy.” Mozzie poured a glass of wine and sat down at the table. “The question is, what are you going to do with the information?”

“Not sure.” Neal tossed the file onto the table. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, just that he wanted to see the human – Peter – again.

Mozzie sighed and reached into his shirt pocket. “Here. If I know you – and I do – you’re gonna want to go back to the surface again.” He placed a small pouch on the table between them.

“What’s that?”

“Something that will help you.” Mozzie gestured to it. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Neal untied the strings and shook out the items that were in the bag. Nestled in his palm were two perfect black pearl earrings. He held them up to the light. 

The deep black hue undulated in the lamp glow and as he turned them, it looked like images playing in shadows. “There’s a pattern…”

“They’re etched.” Mozzie picked up the file folder and opened it. “Old magic.”

“Why do I need them?” Neal looked closer at the symbols, tracing a finger over the outlines.

“To keep you on land longer. You only have so much time before you revert back to fins.”

“So why didn’t I need these before? When I made my birthright journey?” Gently, Neal placed them on the bag.

“The King used a spell that triggered your transformation – it's something that can only be triggered by him once without any repercussions. If he has to change you a second time, there's a chance that you'll never get your fins back. These little beauties work differently – you can use them for a limited amount of time – three days at the most. But if you're not back in the water when the clock runs out, you're going to be in big trouble.” 

“So do I need to make a deal for these?” Neal chuckled to cover his nervousness. Power like this has a price. 

“No. Unlike some of our distant cousins, you won’t have to give up your voice for legs,” Mozzie scoffed. 

Neal was relieved that there would be no payback. “So where did you get them?” 

“I grabbed them from the Vault.” Mozzie was flippant.

“Wait, you stole these from my father?” Neal looked incredulously at his friend. 

“I didn’t ‘steal’ them.” Mozzie made air quotes. “I merely borrowed them for the duration of your obsession.”

“And what’s your plan to get us out of trouble when he finds you took them?” Neal placed them back on the bag. His father’s anger was not worth the risk of using the earrings.

“He won’t.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I changed the catalogue entry to ‘lost’ on the off-chance that someone may come looking for them. Which they won’t.”

“Moz, why are you so willing to help me with this?” Neal studied his friend.

Mozzie gave him a crooked smile, “Let’s just say that everyone should have a chance at happiness and leave it at that.” 

The tone of his voice let Neal know that he wasn’t going to say any more. “Okay then.” Neal gestured to the earrings. “So tell me how they work.” 

“There’s a phrase that activates them.” Mozzie opened one of Neal’s sketchbooks scribbled the words, turning them to Neal when he was finished. “You can say it as long as you’re not wearing the earring and nothing will happen, but you’re going to need to memorize them for later.”

Neal read the words. _Ένα γίνεται δύο, στέκεται ψηλά, μόνο για έναν χρόνο._ “One becomes two, standing tall, only for a time.” He looked at Mozzie. “Simple.” 

“True. Once you’re on land, your fin will become legs. You’ll have a set time before you have to come back to the ocean. Pay attention to that. Ever hear the human story of Cinderella?” Mozzie walked over to the couch and picked up a leather satchel he’d brought with him. Placing it on the table he rooted around in it, pulling out a glass bottle, a needle a small clamp and some cloth. “You’ll know when you’re getting close when your legs start hurting.”

“Okay.” Neal watched as Mozzie took the earrings and placed them on a white cloth. “Um…what are you doing?”

“Getting the earrings ready to use.” Mozzie uncorked the bottle and Neal got a whiff of antiseptic. “I’ll need to pierce your ear.” 

“I thought I could just carry them.” Neal rubbed his earlobe. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to. They need to be next to your skin.” Mozzie wiped the needle, the clamp and the earring posts with the antiseptic. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not being a baby. I’m just not a fan of pain.” He frowned at Mozzie’s expression. “You know what I mean.”

“Trust me, this won’t hurt as bad as you think it will. Come here.” Mozzie gestured with a bit of cloth.

Neal swam closer to his friend and closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to watch a sharp object come close to his face. He felt the cool pressure of the cloth on his ear, then a tight pinch.

“The clamp will numb your earlobe.” Neal could hear Mozzie shuffling. “You’ll feel pressure, but that’s about it.”

“You better be right,” Neal muttered.

“Hey, I’m doing this for you.” The hurt in Mozzie’s voice was evident and Neal felt bad that he’d upset his friend. 

“I know, Moz. I’m sorry.” Neal tilted his ear so that Mozzie had a better angle.

“Do you want me to tell you when I’m going to pierce?” Mozzie’s hand was on his chin, holding his face steady.

“No, just do - ,” Neal felt a ‘pop’, a weird sliding feeling and Mozzie fumbling by his ear. 

“Okay. Done. Here’s a mirror.”

Neal opened his eyes and took the mirror from Mozzie. Tilting his head he looked at the earring. The dark color made a nice contrast against his skin. He moved his head slightly and he could swear that the etchings shifted like they were alive.

“I like it. You did a good job, Moz. It didn’t hurt at all. Thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

“You’re welcome.” Neal could tell that Mozzie was mollified by the apology. “Don’t play with it or you’ll get it infected. You’ll need to keep it in for the duration of your need to go topside.”

“Okay.” Neal glanced at the earring again. “Wait. What about at the palace? Won’t my father notice?”

“Luckily the King is leaving for a royal tour tomorrow if you remember. I got you out of it by telling him you were under the weather so you may need to play sick if your mother stops by.”

“Good.” Neal rose and glided to the doors to his balcony. Looking up, he felt Mozzie swim up beside him. “Thank you.”

“Neal…” Mozzie trailed off.

“What, Moz?” Neal knew what Mozzie was going to ask. 

“Are you sure about this?” Mozzie put his hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I mean, he’s just a human. Why are you so set on this?”

“I don’t know, Moz. He’s just…” He looked into the concerned face of his friend, at a loss as to _why_ he needed to go to the surface and watch Peter Burke. “I don’t know. But yeah, Moz, I’m sure.” He smiled at Mozzie. “It’ll be okay.”

“If you say so.” They were silent, watching a school of parrot fish swim by. “Just, please be careful. ”

“I know and I’ll be careful.” Neal smiled, the image of Peter Burke in the setting sun foremost in his thoughts. He couldn’t wait to study him and – though he would never tell Mozzie – maybe actually meet the man who was haunting his thoughts.

@*@*@*@*@

Two days later Neal was headed for the surface. Mozzie had arranged for some human clothing to be left in a crevasse near Peter’s hotel. When Neal asked him how he’d managed it, Mozzie just smiled enigmatically.

Neal broke the surface of the water just before the sun rose over the horizon. Several strong strokes towards the beach put him at a knee-high depth, the perfect spot to transform. Neal looked around, confirming that there were no spectators nearby. Mozzie was insistent on that point. Taking a deep breath, he chanted the phrase that Mozzie had given him.

 _“Éna gínetai dýo, stéketai psi̱lá, móno gia énan chróno._ One becomes two, standing tall, only for a time.”

He waited a moment but nothing happened. Looking down, he saw his scales reflecting in the dawning of the sun.

Neal was still a Mer. “What the -?” Maybe he didn’t say it correctly. Neal repeated the phrase a second time, then a third. Still nothing. 

Cursing Mozzie for a spineless whelk, Neal flipped over, intent on heading back home and giving his friend a piece of his mind. 

Then pain, hot, piercing, searing through his fin - bones cracking, muscles ripping in two as his body attempted to reform itself into something it was never designed to be. This wasn’t like the time when he'd turned seventeen and his father took him to the surface so he could understand just what the two-leggeds were like. This was torture. Sinking to the sandy floor, Neal’s mouth opened in a silent scream of anguish. The seawater rushed in, choking him, filling his lungs, cutting off his breathing.

He was drowning. 

Panicked, he thrashed, arms flailing, trying to find the surface again. Coughing, Neal’s head broke free, and he frantically sucked in air as he was hit with another wave of agony. Insides twisting, cartilage elongating, organs shifting – it felt like the torment would never end. Somehow Neal made it to the water’s edge. He curled up into himself, whimpers of hurt escaping his lips. 

He had no idea how long he lay there, waiting for the transformation to complete itself. Now he knew why Mozzie was so adamant that no one see him. He couldn’t imagine what it must have looked like. Neal made a mental note to wait until he was in shallower water to transform the next time – or make Mozzie come with him for safety’s sake. 

Neal rolled over, his body aching, and struggled to sit up. He looked down. Splayed out in front of him were legs. His legs. He took a moment to examine them. It had been a long time since he’d transformed and he’d forgotten how elegant they were. He wriggled his feet in the sand and chuckled at the feeling of the grains between his toes.

Using a nearby rock, he stood, wobbly at first. One foot in front of the other, slowly, walking to the spot Mozzie’s contact had marked with an ‘X’. There he found a bag with clothes, a jug of water, a key and a note. Unfolding it, he read:

__

Neal, use the water to rinse off. You’ll thank me later. The key is to a room at a hotel that you can use as a base. In it you’ll find everything you’ll need to pass as human. Remember, you have a limited amount of time. Be careful. Mozzie.

Neal quickly rinsed off the sand and salt. Pulling the clothes from the bag, he tried to determine exactly what went where. Thankfully Mozzie’s friend had put helpful notes on each piece so dressing was easy. He put the empty water jug in the bag and headed up to the hotel.

Unlocking the door to the room, he flipped on the light. The space was simple, a bed with a green comforter, a dresser, a small box that he discovered was a refrigerator, a closet, and a bathroom. Neal put the bag in the closet and found the packet that Mozzie said would be there. Sitting on the bed, he opened it and pulled out the contents. 

Mozzie’s friend had outdone themselves. Neal was holding a wallet with the local currency and an ID that listed him as “Neal Caffrey.” A file folder similar to the one that Mozzie had shown him earlier held information about Peter Burke’s movements. According to Mozzie’s contact, Burke usually headed to the dig around nine in the morning. 

Neal looked at the clock on the end table. Six-thirty. He had some time. Lying back, Neal closed his eyes and settled in to wait.

@*@*@*@*@

The dark-haired man was following him again.

Peter had stopped off at the local farmer’s market near the village to pick up some fresh produce and saw him in the crowd. Quickly paying for his purchase, he headed to his motorcycle. He stowed the fruit in the saddlebags, strapped on his helmet, and straddled the old motorcycle he’d bought when he first arrived on Santorini.

It was funny about the bike, an old Triumph just past its quarter-century mark. When he'd been a wet-behind-the-ears grad student on his first dig here in the Aegean, his professor told him to go out and buy the oldest, cheapest motorcycle he could get, so he wouldn't have to rely on the spotty public transportation. This bike would have been brand new back then. It was hard to believe that was twenty-five years ago. It felt like yesterday.

Glancing in the side mirror, he focused on the man loitering at the fruit vendor’s stall. He was slender, with a swimmer’s build, his thick brown hair curling at the nape of his neck. Not that Peter noticed. Not at all. Solid shoulders were encased in a sky blue linen shirt, offset by cream linen pants that were fitted perfectly to his legs.

He’d shown up earlier in the week at the dig site on one of the tours. Peter had spotted him immediately, because he didn’t look like the typical tourist. No camera, not dressed in typical vacationer’s attire - he stood out from the crowd. He seemed more interested in the excavation than listening to the tour guide. Even Jones had made a comment about how engrossed the man was with the ruins.

That evening they’d seen him at the local watering hole. Tucked away in a back booth, he’d been in the shadows, but Peter was certain it was him. The way his head tilted, the set of his shoulders, his gaze – it was exactly the way he’d looked at the dig site. Like he was studying something. 

Like he was studying Peter.

It was unnerving.

Peter had gotten up from the bar to go speak to him but was interrupted by several of the locals wanting to know how the excavation was going. By the time he was done talking with them, the man had disappeared. 

Then he reappeared the next day back at the ruins. Watching them, watching _him_. Always in Peter’s line of vision, but never close enough for contact. Slipping just out of reach every time Peter made an effort to take a break and find out just why he was following him.

“Fuck this,” Peter muttered under his breath and climbed off his bike. He was going to find out who this man was and why he was stalking Peter. Scanning the crowd, he looked for his shadow, but the man had melted away into the mass of people. Again.

Peter sighed. Maybe next time. Seating himself on his bike, he started it and drove off to his hotel, totally missing the figure standing in the dim light of the nearby alcove.

@*@*@*@*@

Neal stepped out of the shadows as Peter sped by, the - iron horse he rode kicking up a cloud of dust. Walking quickly to the edge of the market, he could see Peter’s trail heading down the road towards the hotel.

He smiled to himself. Studying Peter Burke was definitely proving to be exciting. Simply watching the man as he moved around the excavation site made Neal’s mouth water. His long legs, broad shoulders, the fluidness of his movements reminded Neal of an Orca skimming the whitecaps in the North Sea.

The first time they locked eyes sent chills down Neal’s spine. Chocolate brown with flecks of gold, Peter had looked puzzled at first, then graced him with a smile and a tip of his head. Neal spent the following days observing Peter working and relaxing.

It was actually fun trying to stay just to the left of Peter’s radar. Neal knew he was baiting the other man, but he just couldn’t help it. Peter’s furrowed brow, his off-kilter behavior, his attempts to confront Neal and his frustration when Neal evaded his efforts were just too enjoyable.

Neal knew, however, that it was going to have to end. He’d need to return home soon. Sighing, he hailed a passing cab and gave the driver the name of the hotel. Maybe a nap and a nice glass of red wine would improve his disposition. He arrived at the hotel, paid the driver, and headed to his room. 

Stripping down to his underwear, Neal stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. He could hear the ocean’s song, voices from of some of the guests out on the patio, and the distant strains of the music from the café nearby.

His thoughts turned to Peter and he imagined himself laughing and talking with the human. Peter was smiling at him, they were sharing a cheese and fruit plate, the moon was shining…

Then Peter kissed him. Soft lips, slightly chapped, firm against his mouth. Neal moaned, his cock filling. Snaking his hand under his briefs, he palmed his hardening dick. Losing himself in the fantasy that it was Peter touching him, he jacked himself slowly.

“Peter…” Neal whispered, increasing his speed, imagining Peter over him, watching Neal as he bucked his hips up into Peter’s grip. “Oh gods…” 

The tightness of his hand, the friction, the thoughts of Peter Burke whispering debauched things in his ear had Neal quickly spilling over his fingers with a gasp. He rode out his orgasm with a choked cry. Sated, he pulled the covers over himself and drifted off. 

It was dusk when Neal woke. Stretching, he grimaced, realizing that his briefs were now stuck to his skin. He definitely needed a shower. Padding to the bathroom, he quickly washed and dressed before heading out to the café on the patio. He chose a table overlooking the beach and the ocean, where he ordered a cheese plate along with a glass of _Portokalada_ , enjoying the light citrus beverage.

The guests were spread out around the area, enjoying the sunset and the cool breezes. Music drifted from the kitchen of the café, sounding tinny in the night air. 

Neal winced, his legs twinging. The pains were starting. It was going to be time to go home shortly. He sighed, playing with the stem of his glass. He would miss this. The breeze against his skin, the sounds of the birds, the smell of the flowers. And of course, Peter Burke. Mozzie hadn’t said when or if he could come back once he returned to the sea, but maybe he just needed to recuperate for a few days. Seeing Peter again would be worth the pain of his transformation.

A shadow blocked the setting sun. Neal looked up into the face of the man he was obsessed with.

“You’ve been following me.”

@*@*@*@*@

“You’ve been following me.”

Peter looked down at the dark haired man seated on the patio of his hotel. Rays from the setting sun bathed his face, tipping the angles of his cheeks in gold and pink. The breeze lifted his hair, ruffling it in such a way that Peter wanted to brush it back, just to know how it would feel against his fingers.

The man looked up at Peter. “Yes.” The word was simple, without a hint of self-consciousness or any awareness of how Peter might mistake him for a stalker.

“Why?”

He could see the man pause, considering his words. “Because you fascinate me.” 

_Fascinated him?_ “What the hell does that mean? ‘I fascinate you.’” 

The man smiled and Peter was trapped in the brilliance of that grin. “Exactly what it sounds like. You fascinate me, so I’ve been watching you.” His voice was smooth, a trace of an accent that teased at the corner of Peter’s brain. 

“You know that’s freaky, right?” Peter couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. 

“I’m sorry, is that not something people do?” The man tilted his head questioningly, but Peter could swear he saw a glimpse of mischief flash in his gaze.

“No. Not unless you want to get arrested.” Peter snorted. “Or punched.” 

“Ahh. Then I guess I just need to be more discreet.” The man chuckled. “Or more overt.”

“More overt?” Peter huffed in disbelief. “Is that possible?”

“Of course. If I invite you to dinner, then I can watch you without having to worry about you calling the police. Or hitting me.” He gestured to the opposite chair. “Will you join me?” 

Peter’s head was whirling. He knew he should say no, but part of him was drawn to the man sitting in front of him. He was a puzzle and Peter was a sucker for puzzles. 

Stalling for time he said, “You could at least tell me your name if you intend to keep stalking me.”

“Neal…Caffrey.” 

It seemed to Peter like the man – Neal – was testing out the last name to see how it sounded. Just another piece of the puzzle that made Peter want to know more about him.

“I’m…” he began to introduce himself.

“Peter Burke. I know.” Neal smiled.

Peter grimaced. “Of course you do.”

Neal shrugged, looking like an unrepentant schoolboy. “Like I said…”

“Yeah…I fascinate you. I get it. Frankly, I’m scared to find out what else you know about me,” he replied dryly.

“I’ll be happy to tell you, but would you please sit down?” Neal motioned to the other chair again. “I swear I’m harmless.”

Peter was sure there were many words he could use to describe Neal Caffrey, but harmless was not going to be one of them. He considered Neal’s offer and went with his gut. It rarely steered him wrong. Plus, if he was truthful, Neal intrigued him as well. “Okay. I’ll bite.” He sat down and regarded Neal with a smirk. 

“So - what are we having?”

@*@*@*@*@

Neal couldn’t believe his luck. Peter Burke had agreed to have dinner with him. He studied the man in the seat opposite him.

Peter looked better up close. The light green shirt he was wearing reminded Neal of the color of sea kelp in shallow waters. It accentuated Peter’s tanned skin and brought out the gold flecks in his eyes. Neal didn’t know what material Peter’s pants were made of, but he appreciated the way they molded to Peter’s thighs every time he shifted. 

And of course there were his hands. 

Broad, strong, capable - Neal wanted Peter to touch him with those hands. Run them along Neal’s skin, the rough calluses caressing his nipples, his fingers gripping Neal’s hips as he - .

“So,” Peter’s voice pulled Neal from his thoughts. “What brought you to Santorini? Other than your need to stalk unsuspecting folk?”

Neal felt himself blush. He needed to come up with something. “I’m actually on a bit of a vacation,” he replied, sticking as close to the truth as he could. “Taking a bit of a break from the family business.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Peter poured them some wine and handed Neal his glass. Their fingers brushed and Neal shivered at the contact.

“My father - he's got something of a trading empire. He wants me to step into his ... shoes.” It wasn’t a lie, technically. “He’s travelling on business right now, so I thought I’d take some time off.”

“Is that what you want to do? Follow in your father’s footsteps?” 

Neal hadn’t really thought about it before. He’d always assumed that he’d take over when his father retired. “It’s always been the plan, but it’s really what I want to do. What about you? Have you always wanted to be an archeologist?” He laughed at Peter’s expression. “What? I saw you at the dig. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“True.” Peter chuckled in reply. “Yeah. I’ve always been fascinated -,” he tipped his glass to Neal, “- with the ancient world. How people lived, who they fought, who they loved. All of it. We can learn so much about ourselves by studying our past…” Peter looked at Neal and flushed. “Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Neal reassured him. “I agree. Plus it’s wonderful to hear you talk so passionately about it.” He bit into the tomato-keftedes that the wait staff had brought for their appetizer. “Makes me curious as to your other passions.”

He heard Peter's quick indrawn breath and secretly smiled to himself. Pretending his comment was innocent, he grinned at Peter and offered him the last appetizer.

The rest of their meal was filled with light, easy conversation. Peter asked questions and Neal smoothly sidestepped the truth and turned the discussion back to Peter and the excavation.

“So tell me, what sort of historical finds have you unearthed so far?” Neal finished up his moussaka. “Anything you can share with us mere mortals?”

“Not really. We’re still in the discovery phase of the project.” Peter gestured to the last piece of baklava and Neal shook his head. He watched Peter finish the dessert, a look of bliss on his face.

“Not even a teaser?” Neal added a coaxing tone to his voice.

“Nope. No spoilers.” Peter grinned at him.

Neal sighed melodramatically then laughed. “Fine.” He signaled the wait staff for the check. “Peter, put your money away,” he said when Peter pulled out his wallet.

“I can’t let you pay,” Peter protested.

“I invited you to dinner so yes you can.” Neal handed the server some cash and turned back to Peter. “Tell you what, come take a walk with me and we’ll call it even. Please?”

He could see Peter consider it. “Okay, yeah. I’d like that.”

Neal stood and extended his hand. Peter took it, a surprised look on his face as Neal pulled him up from the chair. When he tried to let go, Neal twined his fingers around Peter’s and tugged. Walking backwards, he smiled as he led Peter towards the beach. 

They strolled down to the water, hands linked. The warmth of Peter’s palm, his callused fingers rubbing against Neal’s skin felt exquisite. They stood at the edge of the water, watching as the waves rolled up onto the shore, their little whitecaps breaking up the darkness of the water.

“I love the ocean at night.” Peter spoke low. “There’s just something about it. Can’t really put it into words, it’s just…” He trailed off.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” And he did. More than Peter could imagine. 

Neal tilted his head up and watched Peter as he gazed out over the incoming tide. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was obvious that he was listening to the rhythm of the waves crashing on the beach.

He reminded Neal of the humans that he’d visited during his one and only visit to the surface. Proud, strong, dominant.

It was no wonder Neal kissed him.

Peter’s lips were firm, slightly chapped, just like Neal had imagined. He tasted like honey and wine and it was a heady flavor. Neal wanted more. He licked Peter’s lips lightly, trying to coax him to open up, but Peter pulled back, causing Neal to chase him slightly.

“Neal...” Peter stepped away and ran a hand over his lips. 

“Sorry, sorry. That was too forward. I’m sorry.” Neal mentally kicked himself. He’d moved too quickly, their easy comfort with each other making him forget that Peter had just met him.

“No, no,” Peter started. “Well, yes, but no. I was just startled, that’s all.” 

“No. I was wrong. We’ve just met and I shouldn’t have kissed you. I mean, I don’t even know if you like men that way…” Peter’s fingers on Neal’s lips stopped him in mid-sentence. 

“Neal. It’s okay.” Peter’s hand curved across Neal’s jaw. “And for the record, yes. I like men that way.”

“Good.” He paused, soaking in the warmth of Peter’s hand on his face. “Good.”

“So, what say we try this again.” Peter’s voice was warm and it sent shivers down Neal’s spine. “Maybe just a bit slower this time, okay?”

“Okay,” was all Neal could say before Peter leaned down and softly pressed their lips together.

It was heaven, and more. Neal let himself be drawn in to Peter’s embrace, following his lead as Peter took charge, coaxing Neal’s lips open this time. 

Peter’s tongue danced across Neal’s mouth, licking deep like he needed to consume Neal. Little nips with his teeth, hands cupping Neal’s face and stroking right behind Neal’s ear – they all combined to make Neal weak in the knees.

“You taste so good…” Neal felt more than heard Peter’s words whispered into his mouth. “Been wanting to kiss you all night.”

Neal moaned, gripping Peter’s arms and pulling him closer. He needed to feel Peter’s body against his. 

He got his wish as Peter slid his hands down Neal’s sides and spun them around, pushing him against the nearby retaining wall. Peter nudged his thigh between Neal’s legs and rubbed it against Neal’s cock sending tremors of arousal throughout his body. 

Neal mewled at the sensation and rocked his hips against Peter, feeling the other man’s erection echoing his. Peter grabbed Neal’s ass and ground down, thrusting harder as he mouthed down Neal’s jaw. 

“Gods, Peter, yes…” Neal was delirious with hunger. He needed for Peter to fuck him – now. He reached for the front of Peter’s shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. “Please...I need…”

“What Neal? What do you need?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”

“Need you to fuck me.” 

Peter groaned and kissed him again, his mouth plundering Neal’s, his lips full of promise.

The sound of footsteps crunching on the harsh sand broke them apart. Several couples passed them on their way to the shore. One of the men gave Neal a thumbs up, causing him to blush and bury his face in Peter’s neck.

“I think this is probably not the best place for what we were about to do.” Peter’s voice was warm and husky in Neal’s ear. “We should move this to a more private setting.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Neal took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.

“Without sounding too much like a cliché, your place or mine?” Peter nuzzled his neck and sucked a small bruise behind Neal’s ear.

“Yours is closer,” Neal gasped at the sensation. 

“Mine it is then.” Peter chuckled, dark and sensual. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Neal was more than ready. 

“Then let’s go.”

@*@*@*@*@

Somehow they stumbled to Peter’s hotel room, breathing heavily, hands roaming over each other’s bodies. Peter unlocked the door, shoving it open with a crash as he herded Neal into the room. Kicking the door shut, he pinned Neal against it, hip to hip, diving into a kiss that devoured Neal’s mouth.

Neal gave back as good as he got, curving his hands around Peter’s jaw and sucking on his tongue like a promise. Peter moaned, wanting the feel of Neal’s mouth on his cock _rightthefucknow!_

Later Peter would swear that Neal was psychic because just as that thought formed in his mind, Neal flipped him against the wall and slid to his knees, hands gripping Peter’s hips as he mouthed Peter’s dick through his slacks.

“Oh God…yes…” Peter’s eyes slammed shut and his head hit the wall as the sound of his zipper being pulled down sent jolts of arousal straight to his dick. He whimpered at the sensation of his pants being unbuckled and eased down. A moment of cool air was there and gone as he felt Neal hand circle him, his fingers caressing the head of Peter’s cock before stroking along his shaft to cup Peter’s balls.

“Beautiful…” Opening his eyes, Peter looked down at Neal’s reverent tone. Neal looked mesmerized as he stared at Peter’s cock and licked his lips. That unconscious gesture sent a jolt of lust throughout Peter’s body causing his dick to jump in Neal’s grip. Neal looked up at Peter, his lust blown eyes asking permission. 

Peter groaned. “Oh God, yes…suck me.” It was direct and dirty and Peter didn’t care. His hips bucked forward, his cock brushing against Neal’s lips. 

He watched as Neal’s mouth opened to take him in. The warmth and pressure and _oh, God, Neal’s tongue_ almost made him come right then.

Dimly he felt his head bang against the wall again as Neal swallowed him inch by inch. Peter knew he wasn’t small but Neal was taking him practically to the hilt. He’d never been with anyone who could deep throat him without a struggle, but Neal made it seem easy.

Peter’s hands wound themselves in Neal’s hair, not so much guiding him as keeping Peter from shoving himself down Neal’s throat. He could hear Neal making sounds of pleasure, sending vibrations down his cock to his balls.

“Fuck, Neal…feels so fucking good.” Neal hummed, sliding his hands around to Peter’s asscheeks. Pulling them apart, Peter felt Neal slide a fingertip over his hole, pressing down right before Neal buried his face in the curls at the base of Peter’s cock and _swallowed_.

Peter had no clue what he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he pushed deeper down Neal’s throat. Neal pushed back and sucked. Peter felt his balls draw up and he knew he wasn’t going to last.

“God, Neal…gonna come…” 

“No.” Peter’s eyes flew open as Neal pulled off and squeezed the base of his cock, effectively short circuiting his orgasm. “Not yet. Want you inside me when you come.” His voice, deep, hoarse and dominant had Peter willing to agree to anything. 

“Oh God.” He watched as Neal leaned back, his lips red and swollen, eyes full of desire and promise and groaned as Neal palmed himself through his slacks. “Okay…okay…” Peter pulled away and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. “Clothes…off….”

“Let me…” Neal stood and pushed Peter’s hands away, swiftly unbuttoning and removing Peter’s shirt. His pants, already at halfmast, came next and Peter found himself naked.

“Gorgeous…” Neal breathed, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed. “Been dying to touch you.”

Peter shuddered as Neal circled him, trailing his fingers over Peter’s shoulders, his waist, his chest, his cock. “Like a Greek God.” Neal’s mouth followed, sucking bruises into Peter’s neck, coaxing his nipples into hard peaks, nipping at his lips. “Lie down on the bed for me.”

Peter obeyed – he had no choice. Neal was weaving a spell and Peter was helpless. He watched as Neal undressed, marveling at his perfect physique. Flawless skin, his muscles tight under his skin. The perfect cut of hip. And a slight trail of hair leading towards the most beautiful cock Peter had ever seen.

Long and thick, it jutted proudly away from Neal’s body. Full firm balls below swaying slightly as Neal approached the bed. Peter wanted to taste them.

The bed dipped as Neal climbed on. Peter reached out to pull him close but Neal chuckled and shifted to his side. “Words Peter,” he said in a teasing voice. “Use your words.”

“Wanna taste you.” They came out guttural and desperate.

“Taste what, Peter?” Neal rose up on his knees and took his cock in his hand. “My cock?” He stroked it, once, twice, squeezing a bit of pre-come from the slit. Peter’s mouth watered as he watched the drop hang for a moment before gravity let it loose to splash on Peter’s skin. “You want me to climb up there, rest my hands on the headboard and feed it to you?”

“Yes! God yes!” Peter had never wanted anything more in his entire life. “Please…”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Neal gripped the headboard as he swung a leg over, positioning himself perfectly over Peter’s head. Gripping the base of his dick, he deliberately rested the head on Peter’s lips. 

Peter’s mouth opened automatically and Neal’s cock slipped past his teeth as Neal fed it slowly in until it rested at the edge of Peter’s throat. 

Peter intended to take his time worshiping Neal’s cock. But the moment that he had the weight of Neal on his tongue he was lost. Neal’s taste, his scent, the undulation of his hips, it all had Peter rocking up to swallow as much of Neal as he could.

“Oh gods, Peter, you feel so good.” Neal thrust deeper and harder and Peter took him, gloried in the pressure at the back of his throat. His eyes were watering, but he could see the ripples of Neal’s muscles as he held himself above Peter, hear the wrecked sound of Neal’s voice as he begged to let him fuck Peter’s mouth.

Peter wrapped his arms around Neal’s thighs and pulled him down, sucking and licking, until Neal was writhing above him. 

“Oh gods, Peter, gonna…” was all the warning Peter got before Neal spilled down his throat, hot and salty. Peter took it all until Neal was done emptying himself. 

Letting go, Peter eased him to the side. Neal looked up at him with a satisfied smile. “Gods, that was…”

“Fantastic?” 

“More than.” Neal moved up to kiss Peter. “Thank you.”

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Peter grinned at Neal and gestured to his still prominent erection. “I think you told me I couldn’t come unless I was inside you.” He leaned back and opened the side drawer where he kept a small bottle of lube and his condoms, raising an eyebrow at Neal’s chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“You seem to be well prepared.” Neal nodded his head in direction of the bottle. “Were you expecting company?”

“Never hurts to be prepared.” Peter tossed the items on the bed next to Neal and flipped a leg over his hips, caging the other man with his arms. “Now I think it’s time for you to lie back,” he whispered, kissing and nipping at Neal’s jaw. 

He grinned to himself at Neal’s hiss. Peter may have been at Neal’s mercy earlier, but now he was the one in control. Slowly he kissed Neal, licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. He could feel Neal’s hands on his back, his short nails scraping into his skin.

The pain made his cock jump and he knew if he didn’t get Neal prepped soon it would all be over.

“Don’t move. Can you do that?” At Neal’s frantic nod, Peter made his way down Neal’s body, stopping to bite and suck on Neal’s nipples, turning them blood red and hard. He paused at Neal’s stomach, thrusting his tongue quickly in and out of Neal’s belly button in a promise of what was to come.

Neal whined at the motion and Peter felt his hardening cock thrusting against his chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t move.” 

“Sorry…sorry.” Neal’s voice was hoarse, from desire or from taking Peter down his throat, Peter wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Peter loved the desperation in Neal’s tone. He chuckled against Neal’s belly and nipped him when he moved again.

Trailing down to Neal’s dick, Peter took it in his mouth, loving the feel of it growing against his tongue. He pulled off, licked a long strip up the shaft, then wrapped his lips around it again.

Neal was babbling, repeating ‘Oh Gods’ and ‘Feels good’ over and over. Peter reached for the bottle of lube and tucked it in the vee of Neal’s legs. Pulling off of Neal’s cock, he ignored his whine as he slid down the bed a bit.

“Spread your thighs.” Peter popped the lid and squeezed a bit of the slick onto his fingers. Rubbing to warm it a bit, he lifted Neal’s balls, taking one than the other in his mouth.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Neal arched his back and Peter could hear his nails scrabbling against the cotton sheets. “Peter!”

“Hmmm?” Peter replied as he circled around Neal’s pucker, gently pressing in and out with the tip of his finger.

“More…need…more.” Neal was whining. “Please…”

Peter obliged, sinking his finger in to the first knuckle, then pulling out and pushing in again. He added the second, stretching Neal, scissoring him, before adding a third.

Peter let Neal’s balls slip out of his mouth and maneuvered onto his knees so he could watch Neal as he fucked him with his fingers. Neal was splayed out, eyes closed, moisture leaking down his face as he shoved back against Peter’s hand.

“That feel good?” Peter asked as he hit Neal’s prostate and heard him moan. “My fingers fucking you?” 

“Yes, gods, yes!” Neal whimpered as Peter twisted his fingers and pushed them in deeper. 

“Not as good as my cock will, though.” Peter picked up the condom from the bed and ripped open the packet with his teeth. He rolled it on with one hand, the other still pumping in and out of Neal. Grabbing the bottle of lube, he dripped it on his cock and smeared it on. “Ready for me?”

“Yeah…want you to fuck me….” Neal’s eyes were open now and he watched Peter with utter want. “Now, Peter…please…”

Peter pulled his fingers out and added the slick to his already lubed cock. Lining up with Neal’s hole, he slowly pushed in until he was completely seated. “Like that?”

“Gods, yes. Feels so good.” Neal rolled his hips slightly and clamped down, squeezing Peter’s dick. “So fucking big inside me…”

Peter gasped at the sensation. Neal had been tight when he’d entered, but the extra pressure was incredible. “Gotta move, Neal.”

“Yeah, c’mon. Fuck me, Peter.” Neal hitched up his legs and wrapped them around Peter, his feet resting on Peter’s ass. “Need you to fuck me.” 

Peter began thrusting, slow at first, enjoying the feeling of Neal stretched around his cock. But Neal’s low voice, pleading with him to move faster, harder – begging for Peter to pound him into the mattress – ended any thoughts of drawing things out.

“You want that? You want me to fuck you hard?” Not waiting for an answer, Peter flipped Neal’s legs over his shoulders and began to thrust in and out, harder and faster, just like Neal was begging for.

“Yeah….oh gods, yeah….” Neal’s fingers were digging into his thigh and Peter was certain they’d see bruises come morning. Locking eyes, Peter circled his hips, watching Neal’s expressions as he hit his prostate. Neal licked his lips and shoved back against Peter. “More…”

 _More?_ He’d give Neal more. Falling on top of him, Peter locked his arms on either side of Neal’s head and increased his thrusts, jackhammering into him and nailing his prostate with every push.

Neal screamed, his cock spewing semen over their stomachs and chests, his muscles clamping down on Peter like a vise. 

That was enough. 

Peter shouted as he came, filling the condom. It felt like his orgasm lasted forever. Soon, he could breathe. He unlocked his arms rolled to the side, making sure he didn’t crush Neal.

They both lay there for a moment in silence until Neal broke it with a soft, hoarse, “Fuck…”

“Yeah.” It was all Peter could reply, his brain still not quite online. He knew he needed to throw away the condom and get a cloth to wipe them down, but his body didn’t want to cooperate.

A moment later, he felt the bed shift as Neal got up. Peter turned his head and watched as Neal padded to the bathroom and ran water over a washcloth. After cleaning himself up, Neal returned with another wet towel.

Peter raised his hand to take it, but Neal said, “No, let me,” and proceeded to remove the condom and tie it off. He wiped Peter down with what Peter could only describe as reverence, before returning to the bathroom to dispose of everything.

Peter didn’t know what to say. None of his former lovers had ever taken the time to take care of him after sex. It was always Peter who did that.

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by Neal coming back into the room. “So…,” he began, wondering if this was the start of the awkward part where Neal made his excuses and left.

“So…,” Neal echoed him.

Peter decided to bite the bullet. “So…I guess I need to ask…are you staying or leaving?”

Neal tilted his head as though he was considering the answer. “Do you want me to stay?”

 _More than anything,_ he thought, but there was no way Peter was going to come off sounding like a teenage girl, so he went with the safe answer. “I want you to do what makes you comfortable.”

Neal cocked an eyebrow as if to say _really?_ and sat there, obviously waiting for Peter to give him the right answer.

“Okay, fine. Yes I want you to stay,” Peter huffed.

“Good, because I was really going to be disappointed if you’d wanted me to go.” He looked at Peter with a serious expression. “This wasn’t a one night stand for me, Peter. Just so you know.”

Those words warmed Peter. Somehow this had turned into something more for him too.

“So you’ll stay then?” He knew it was stupid but he just had to ask.

“Yes.” Neal stretched out on the bed and motioned for Peter to lie down. When he did, Neal curled up against him and rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. “But I have to leave early. Morning commitment that I can’t get out of.” He rested his hand over Peter’s heart. “But we can meet later in the day. For dinner maybe?”

“Okay, don’t forget to leave me your cell number.” Peter reached for the cotton top sheet and pulled it over them. He shifted to get more comfortable and wrapped an arm around Neal.

Neal chuckled. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

Peter was floored. Everyone had a cell phone. “You don’t have a cell phone?”

“Nope.” Peter felt Neal shrug. “I’m on vacation. Figured I didn’t need one.” 

“So how do people get in touch with you?” He cricked his head down to look at Neal. “What about work calls?”

“They leave a message at the hotel. And if it’s important they send a runner.” Neal shifted up and placed a kiss on Peter’s lips. “Enough questions, okay? I have to get up early in the morning and I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in your arms.” 

Peter shut up after that. What else could he say after Neal’s statement? He listened to Neal’s breathing even out, the rhythm so much like the crashing of waves on the beach. His thoughts drifted to he and Neal and a possible future. 

Peter fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 3

Peter was sure his life was perfect. During the day, he and Jones uncovered more and more evidence of the interaction between the Mer and the people of Akrotiri. At night, he and Neal would have dinner on the patio, and discuss art and music and ancient history.

He never overtly said what they had found at the dig site, but Neal seemed to pick up on it and would steer their conversation to literary references about the Mer, spinning tales that captivated Peter. When he asked Neal how he knew so much about the Mer, Neal shrugged and told him they were a hobby. Then he kissed Peter, led him to his room and they made love until Peter couldn’t remember his own name.

Peter started walking around with a grin on his face, which amused Jones to no end. Jones even teased him about it, telling Peter that making a history-altering discovery _and_ having sex with what could possibly be the most beautiful man on earth really agreed with him. He should have known that things wouldn’t continue to run so smoothly.

They were finishing clearing up a section of wall when a shadow fell over their workspace.

“Excuse me, you’re blocking the light.” Peter turned and held his hand up above his eyes to better see the offending person, who was backlit from the halogen lamp they’d been using. 

“Hello, Peter.” The clipped British accent sent his stomach plummeting. He hadn’t heard that voice in over ten years. Peter stood up, straightened to his full height and looked down at the man in front of him.

“Woodford.” His voice was emotionless.

“What? No pleasantries?” Alan Woodford smirked. “Aren’t you glad to see your old partner?” He held his hand out for Peter to shake.

Ignoring Woodford’s gesture, Peter responded, “No, not really. What are you doing here, Alan?”  
“Oh, didn’t you hear? The University asked me to consult on the Delta Complex.” His smile was nothing short of oily. “I assumed they would have told you.” 

“I must have missed that email.” His voice flat, Peter moved away from where Jones was working so he could keep Woodford from seeing the fresco. He didn’t trust the other man – not since their time in Kerameikos. He still got angry at the thought of Woodford looting the site to make a profit. 

“You must have.” Despite Peter’s movements, Woodford walked over to the fresco. Short of manhandling the other man away from the wall, there was nothing Peter could do. “My, my. This looks interesting.” Woodford bent closer to examine the image. “Very nice.”

Jones stood up and blocked his view. “This portion of the site’s not open to visitors.” Peter tried not to chuckle as Jones planted his feet and crossed his arms.

“Ah but I’m not a ‘visitor’.” Woodford curled his fingers around the words. “So I don’t think that applies to me.”

“You’re not authorized, so that’s close enough for me.” Peter snorted at Jones’ reply, causing Woodford to turn back to him.

“You think that’s funny, Peter?” Woodford’s tone was clipped. 

“I think it’s hilarious.” Peter walked over to stand next to Jones. Studying Woodford, he tried to determine the man’s endgame. Failing to suss it out, Peter asked acidly, “Why are you here, Alan?”

“Just wanting to catch up. After all, it’s been years.” 

“And there is a reason for that.” Peter’s patience was wearing thin. “This is a restricted area. If you want to see the excavation, you can buy a ticket like everyone else.”  
With a sigh, Woodford turned to go, pausing to lock eyes with Peter. “It’s a shame, Peter. Here I thought we could mend fences.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Obviously. Fine. I’ll respect your work space, as I’m sure you’ll respect mine.” With that, he walked off.

“That man doesn’t respect shit,” Jones grumbled. 

“You’ve got that right.” Peter nodded in agreement.

“What’s his story, Peter?” Jones took a seat on the cooler. “You clearly know him.”

Peter sighed. “Alan and I were work partners several years ago. He was always a gloryhound – looking for the accolades and the money more than the historical significance of archeology.” 

He paused, considering how much he should tell Jones. “We were working on a dig outside of Athens. There’d been some looting on the site, so I stayed late one night to see if I could find out who was stealing from us.” Peter ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Even now the incident made him angry. “I caught Alan trying to sell some antiquities to a known black market fence. He tried to convince me that he was just studying them, but it was obvious he was making a deal.”

“What did you do?” Jones leaned forward, clearly fascinated.

“I told him that I wouldn’t turn him in if he returned the antiquities to the site and excused himself from the dig. He wasn’t happy, but he did it.” Peter shrugged and looked at Jones. “We haven’t spoken since.”

“So what are you going to do now that he’s here? You obviously don’t trust him.”

Peter’s voice was firm. “Watch our site. And our backs.”

@*@*@*@*@

The excavation site was dark and still as Alan Woodford slipped past the entrance doors. Convincing the guard on duty that he’d forgotten his wallet at the Delta Complex was simple – the man was getting paid minimum wage and could care less about old rocks and jars.

Woodford made his way past the main area back into the section where Peter’s excavation was set up. His visit to his old partner had set off all sorts of flags. Burke was concealing something – he was sure of it.

Back when they were working together, Burke could never hide his excitement whenever they uncovered a lost treasure or artifact. He’d go on and on about its historical importance, and how it revealed a new facet of whatever civilization they were studying.

Woodford could care less.

He was in it for the recognition and the wealth. Oh, maybe at first it was about the historical significance, but when he found out that history didn’t pay the bills, and the black market did, that sealed the deal. A sculpture here, a piece of jewelry there. No one noticed what was missing in the midst of the locals helping themselves.

That was, until Burke caught him in the middle of a deal. 

Burke’s holier-than-thou self-righteous act – saying he wouldn’t turn Woodford in if he just returned the antiquities and excused himself from the dig – still infuriated him. 

Ever since then, Woodford had kept Peter on his radar, waiting for a chance to undermine him, to steal the glory from him like he’d done to Woodford. And this might just be it. 

He’d heard through the grapevine that Burke was on to something big – something that would turn the archeological community on its ear. 

Stepping over the low rope divider, Woodford approached the wall that Peter had tried his best to keep him from. He shined his light on the fresco, illuminating different parts as he studied the image, trying to determine what had Burke so excited. 

As far as he could see, there was nothing spectacular about the ancient art. It was an illustration of a trading company, a typical image for the Minoans at that time.

As he moved closer, his foot brushed a tarp that was blocking a part of the fresco. Moving it, Woodford crouched down to see what the plastic had been covering. He inhaled deeply when he read the inscription at the edge of the image. “My God…” 

Placing the tarp back in its original position, he stood and pulled out his cell phone. Tapping in a number, he waited for the transatlantic call to connect. 

“What did you find out?” No greeting. There was no need. The man on the other end of the phone was an information gatherer – nothing more. Woodford listened, a triumphant smile on his face. He hung up and turned to the fresco again.

“Atlantis…” he murmured. “Peter Burke found it.” Woodford placed a reverent hand on the fresco. “Too bad he won’t be seeing the credit.”

Quickly he made another call. As before, there were no pleasantries. “This is Woodford. I have a job for you.”

@*@*@*@*@

Peter was dining solo – a rare thing nowadays. Jones had another date and Neal had left him a note saying he had family business to attend to but would see him tomorrow. So there he was, sitting on the patio, enjoying a glass of red wine and a plate of Souvlaki.

Lonely as hell. 

He mentally shook his head. It had only been two weeks, but it felt like Neal had been in his life forever. It was to the point that Peter almost physically ached when the other man was not with him.

He didn’t want to think about what would happen when this dig was over. He’d go back to New York City and Neal would go back to…wherever Neal’s family was. Peter realized that he had no idea where Neal lived. This thing between them had happened so fast that they’d skipped over the introductory dance that most relationships began with.

_Relationship._ Peter paused at the realization, his wine glass halfway to his mouth. He was in a relationship with Neal Caffrey. For the first time, he could see himself settling down with someone. The thought both delighted and scared him. 

His musings were interrupted by the two men who sat down at his table. The one to his left looked seedy in his nondescript suit and tie. His partner was bigger, filling out his suit like a linebacker. Peter didn’t recognize either of them. 

“Can I help you?” Peter put his glass on the table and planted his feet under his chair, his fight or flight instinct ratcheting up.

“Peter Burke?” The bigger one asked with a smile – one that came nowhere near his eyes.

“Who wants to know?”

The seedy one answered. “Julian Larson and Ryan Wilkes, UNESCO. We have a few questions to ask you about your current project.”

“You won’t mind if I ask for your ID?” Peter didn’t trust them, not without some sort of proof.

Larson handed over his ID and motioned for the other man to do the same. Peter examined them. The names on the cards were of the men who introduced themselves. He’d heard those names in reference to UNESCO before but had never met the men, and something about them seemed off. Looking at the identification cards a little closer, he realized that ‘United’ was spelled incorrectly. His hunch was right. They were not what they seemed. Stalling for time, he handed back the IDs. “So, how can I help UNESCO?” He was pretty sure that he could bluff his way through whatever questions they wanted to ask, while he figured out what to do. 

They asked him a few general questions about the dig, the accommodations for the workers – especially the locals – and then starting grilling him about security. Suddenly, Wilkes stood up, looming over Peter, and said, " “I think this would be easier if we went to the dig site.” 

“And what if I don’t think so?” There was no way that Peter was going anywhere with these two men. He glanced around, gauging if there was any possibility for help if things got nasty. He felt something hard poke him in the side. Glancing down, he saw the brushed black metal of a pistol. It made his blood run cold.

“I’m not sure you really have a choice.” Larson leaned in. “Now get up, and walk over to the parking lot. Don’t try to get anyone’s attention, because I have no qualms about shooting you or any of them.”

Peter rose slowly and began walking towards the lot. He knew that there was no way to escape these two men – not without innocents getting hurt in the process. 

There was a bustle and he heard someone call his name. “Mr. Burke, you forgot to pay your bill!” It was Andros, his server. He looked at Larson, who jammed the gun into his ribs and shook his head.

“I have to go check on the dig site. Emergency.” Larson pushed the gun deeper into his side. “Just add it to the room charge.”

They stopped at a beat-up Jeep, where Larson gestured for Peter to get into the back. He slid over and contemplated making an escape through the other door until Larson climbed in next to him and pointed the gun at his chest. “Don’t be stupid, Burke.”

Peter kept silent as Wilkes started the vehicle and drove out of the parking lot. They took the road that led past the excavations but didn’t stop. Peter was not surprised. Trying not to attract attention, he reached into his pocket for his phone. 

“You’re really trying my patience, Burke.” Larson held out his hand. “Your phone.”

Sighing, Peter gave it to him and watched as he tossed it out the window of the moving car. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“No.” Larson’s voice was sharp, his tone indicating that he wouldn’t be forthcoming.

Peter looked around, trying to figure out if there was any way to break free, but he realized it was a lost cause. The road was winding too perilously, and they were driving too fast for him to jump out of the vehicle. He turned back to the men in the car. “So, doesn’t he speak?” Peter nodded to Wilkes. “All I’ve heard him say is one sentence.”

Larson smirked. “Let’s just say that Wilkes has his own way of communicating.” 

That statement sent chills down Peter’s spine. “Look,” he tried desperately. “I think it's pretty obvious you're not really UNESCO agents. Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”

“We don’t want anything, Burke.” 

That was not the answer Peter wanted to hear. “Then why did you kidnap me?”

“You’re a job, Burke. Nothing more.” Larson shifted. “And I really wish you would stop talking.”

Peter was past caring what the man would think. “I want to know what the hell is going on! What do you mean ‘I’m a job’?” He faced Larson, anger in his eyes. “Tell me, damn it!”

“Fine. We were paid good money to make you go away. Now will you shut up?”

Peter froze. “Who? Who paid you?”

“Does it really fucking matter? You’re going to disappear so it’s not like you can do anything about it.”

That was the tipping point. Larson’s comment told Peter that they were going to kill him. And he didn’t even know why. He had to do something.

The car took a tight curve at that moment and Peter used it to his advantage. He lunged towards Larson, grabbing the gun and using surprise to turn it away from him. It was short-lived, however, as Wilkes jerked the wheel and Peter lost his balance.

The last thing he remembered was the pain of the pistol as it smashed against his temple.

@*@*@*@*@

Peter was jolted to awareness by someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned and opened his eyes to see Wilkes standing over him.

“Get up.” Wilkes’ voice was dark.

“He speaks,” Peter shot back, grimacing as he raised himself up. The rocking of the floor told him he was on a boat and his heart sank. He was a good swimmer, having been certified for underwater excavation, but not with a head wound.

Wilkes motioned for him to sit on one of the benches. Slowly Peter did, looking out over the railing to see how far they were from the shore. 

The lights on the land were pinpricks, which meant that they were far into the caldera. The click of a lighter got his attention and he turned to see the glow of a cigarette. Larson took a puff, tilted his head and blew the smoke out into the night sky.

“Welcome back, Burke.” Larson leaned back with an oily smile. “Glad to see you’re back amongst the living – at least for a bit.”

“Can’t say I’m glad to see you, Larson.” Peter touched the side of his head, wincing at the pain. His hand came away with blood on his fingers. “I know you’re being paid to kill me. Can you at least tell me why? And for who?” 

Larson looked out over the dark waters and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. There’s no way for you to escape.” He took another drag off the cigarette. “Seems as though whatever you’ve discovered digging in your sandbox is very interesting to my employer and he wants it.”

“Your employer?” The realization hit Peter. “Woodford. He hired you?” 

“Got it in one.” Larson finished his cigarette and flicked the filter into the ocean. Turning back to Peter, Larson said, “Woodford paid us to get rid of you.” He gestured to the water. “This is the easiest way.”

“So you’re going to shoot me and dump me over the edge?” Peter steeled himself for the answer. He was going to die – he should know how.

“No guns. Woodford wants you to suffer. We were told to tie you up and weigh you down.” Larson motioned to Wilkes. “Get the ropes. I’m tired of talking and want this done.”

There was no way Peter was going to die without a fight. If he could escape the boat, he might be able to swim to the closest shore. He lunged towards the railing of the boat, only to be tackled by Wilkes. They grappled, each trying to fight for dominance, until a right hook to Peter’s jaw followed by a bruising punch to his ribs had him splayed out on the deck, gasping for air. 

Wilkes had him trussed, the weights attached to his feet, before Peter knew what was happening. The two men grabbed him and hauled him halfway over the rail.

“Goodbye, Peter Burke.” They shoved him over the edge. 

Peter hit the water with a splash, a single breath taken before the ocean closed over his head. He twisted, trying to loosen the ropes, but knowing it was fruitless. Images of his parents, of Jones, Diana – all flashed before him as he sank further into the depths.

Peter’s lungs burned, the instinctive need for air fighting with self-preservation. 

He thought of Neal. His smile, the way he laughed, his kiss, the way he gave himself fully to Peter every time they made love. He would miss that. Missed the fact that he would never be able to tell Neal that he was falling in love with him. 

Peter knew it was over when his mouth opened and seawater rushed in. Black spots dotted his vision, and he felt his heart beat frantically against his chest. 

As Peter began to lose consciousness, he felt something bump against his legs. Once, twice. 

Something fastened itself over his mouth and Peter greedily sucked in the air that was being pushed into his lungs. He thought he was being pulled up towards the surface, but he was too disoriented to tell. 

His eyes opened, the salty ocean water burning, to see a figure in front of him. Dark hair, pale skin. It looked like Neal. But not Neal. This Neal was dressed in a gossamer tunic that glowed in the water. This Neal smiled and leaned in for another kiss, breathing air into Peter’s mouth. This Neal wrapped his arms around Peter and propelled him to the surface, his tail pumping.

This Neal was a Mer.

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut as he lost consciousness.

@*@*@*@*@

Peter woke up with a gasp. Looking around wildly, he saw dingy white walls and medical monitors that were beeping out of rhythm with each other. He tried to sit up, grimacing at the pain, and found Jones seated next to the bed.

“Easy, Peter.” Jones put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to relax."

"Where am I?"

"You’re in the hospital.”

“Hospital?” His voice was a croak. “How?”

Jones opened a bottle of water and gave it to him. “Drink slowly.”

Peter sipped, the cool liquid easing the ache in his throat. “How did I get here?”

“Someone reported finding you unconscious on the beach. They brought you here and called me, since I’m your medical contact.” Jones studied him. “Peter, what happened? You were beaten up, and the medical staff said you were half-drowned.” 

“Woodford.” Peter’s voice was clipped.

“Woodford? What does he have to do with this?” Jones looked puzzled. 

“Woodford hired men to kill me.” 

“What the hell?” Jones gasped at Peter’s statement. “What do you mean, he hired men to kill you?” 

“Here, take this.” Peter handed the water bottle back to Jones. “Help me sit up better.” Jones adjusted the bed and put a pillow behind Peter’s back. “How long have I been here?”

“Overnight. They found you about three in the morning.” 

“Okay.” Peter ran a hand over his face, trying to put together a timeline. “Okay. Last night two men pretending to be with UNESCO kidnapped me and knocked me unconscious. They took me out on a boat, tied me up and tossed me in the middle of the caldera to drown.” 

Peter continued before Jones could ask questions. “Before they dumped me over the side, the guy who called himself Larson told me that Woodford was interested in what we’d found at the dig site and had paid them to make me disappear.”

“That son of a bitch!” Jones comment was growled. “He was sniffing around the site yesterday when you were out at the truck getting more supplies.”

“Not surprising.” 

Jones tilted his head. “Wait - how’d you manage to get out of the ropes? They didn’t find any on the beach with you.”

Peter sighed. “Honestly, I have no clue. Someone must have rescued me and pulled me to shore, but…” He trailed off, the image of Neal as a Mer filling his thoughts. He shook his head, certain that it had been a hallucination due to oxygen deprivation. 

“We need to tell the police about Woodford.” Jones stood up. “They’ve been waiting outside your room to get your statement.”

“No.” Peter grabbed Jones’ arm. “We keep Woodford out of this.”

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t want to draw attention to the fresco. At least not just yet.” Peter shifted, getting more comfortable on the bed. What he wasn’t telling Jones was that he wanted to confront that bastard Woodford on his own. Not let him weasel his way out with the police.

“Peter, are you sure…?” Jones looked skeptical.

“Yeah. I’ll tell the police about the abduction – call it a mugging or something. You know, rich tourist, yadda yadda.” He nodded to the door. “We should probably let the doctors know I’m awake.”

Jones stood and stuck his head out the door, asking a nurse to get Peter’s physician. Moments later, the doctor came and the room began to bustle. The medical staff checked Peter’s vitals, examined his head wound, and confirmed a slight concussion. The doctor mentioned an MRI, but Peter nixed that, promising to return if he developed any further symptoms.

“So when can I get out, Doc?” Peter didn’t want to stay any longer than he had to. 

“As a precaution, we want to keep you overnight for observation.” The doctor made some notes on Peter’s chart. “I understand that the police are here to take your statement. I’ll make sure they know not to exhaust you.”

He left, and the police entered the room. Peter made up some story about being mugged. When they asked how he managed to get to shore, he honestly told them he had no idea. On their way out, they promised to follow up with him if they found any leads on his assailants.

Peter sighed, glad that they were gone.

“So what now?” Jones regarded him with a questioning look.

“Now – I’m stuck here. You, however, are not. Check in that drawer to see if there’s paper.” 

Jones rooted around and came up with a notepad and pen. He handed it to Peter. 

“I’ve got a few things I need for you to do. If you can pick up some clothes for me for tomorrow that would be great. Also, go to the site and secure everything you can. Put it in my hotel room if you have to.” He handed the list to Jones. “Oh, and leave a note for Neal at the hotel letting him know where I am.” 

Jones chuckled. “Maybe one of his minions can deliver it.”

Peter huffed. “Yeah. This is just another reason I need to convince him to join the twenty-first century and get a damned cell phone.” He looked at his partner. “Thanks, Clinton. Be careful. I don’t trust Woodford not to go after you, too.”

“What about your safety here, Peter? You’re basically a sitting duck.”

“I’ll be fine. Woodford’s goons won’t try anything in a public place.” Peter yawned. “Go. I think I need to take a nap.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to get you out of here.” Jones left with a wave.

Peter settled back on the pillows, his mind turning towards what had happened. The fact that Woodford had hired men to kill him chilled him to the bone. He knew his former partner was cold, but he never would have thought he would stoop to murder. He needed to figure out a way to keep Woodford away from the fresco and keep himself safe at the same time. For a brief moment he thought about hiring private guards, but dismissed that as too expensive. Plus, the university would have questions. Besides, he wouldn’t even know where to hire them.

Maybe Neal could help. His family might have local connections. 

That thought morphed into the image of whoever – whatever – pulled him out of the depths of the ocean. Peter searched his memories but only came up with flashes of skin and scales and blue eyes and dark hair. Like the image on the fresco. Like the Mer people on the border.

Like Neal.

His eyelids suddenly heavy, Peter fell asleep to images of the Mer dancing among the waves.

@*@*@*@*@

“Lunchtime.” The nurse bustled about; making sure Peter had everything he needed. She winked at him. “I added an extra dessert.”

“Thank you.” Peter smiled back at her. He looked at his tray in amazement. Bacon wrapped asparagus and carrots, some kind of beef with a mushroom sauce, salad with feta, and two desserts: lemon cake and galaktoboureko – Greek custard pie. The American hospitals had nothing on this.

It tasted as good as it looked. Peter wolfed it down, earning a chuckle from the elderly man in the next bed.

“Our food…it is good?” 

“Definitely,” Peter grinned. “Even in here.”

“Good, good.” The man leaned forward and extended a hand. “I am Stavros.”

“Peter.” They shook, and Peter sat back eyeing his food. 

“Eat.” Stavros gestured at Peter to finish. “You need. Keep up your strength. For the _gorgóna._ ”

“Gorgóna?” Peter blinked, confused at the man’s reference.

“Yes. How you say in English…” The man paused. “Mermaids. Yes. For the mermaids.”

“I – I don’t understand.” How could this man know he’d discovered a possible connection to the Mer? “What do you mean?”

“You. You have kissed a mermaid.” Stavros stated this with a proud smile on his face. “You have the mark.”

_Mark?_ “What do you mean? What mark?”

“Look.” Stavros motioned to the small mirror on the opposite wall. “On your shoulder.”

Peter moved the tray table aside and stood, careful to keep his hospital gown closed. Still slightly wobbly, he made his way over to the mirror and pulled the neck of his gown to the side.

There was a bruise on his collarbone – dark and bluish. Studying it, Peter realized it resembled a trident. He turned to the old man. “You mean this?”

“Yes. The mark.” Again Stavros smiled at him.

“It’s just a bruise.”

“No, the mark of the Mer.” The man was insistent. Peter didn’t want to agitate him, so he played along.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, returning to his bed.

“Why are you here?” Stavros countered with his own question. “In the hospital.”

“I…” Peter paused, deciding the filter the truth. “I almost drowned.

“And a mermaid saved you. Kissed you.” Stavros lifted his hands in an expansive shrug, as if to say ‘that was that’. “Just like the stories.”

“Stories?” Peter’s ears perked up. He knew the typical fables about mermaids - Hans Christian Anderson, Disney – but he didn’t remember anything about being marked by a mermaid. “Tell me.”

“My father learned from his father who learned from his father…” the man began, telling Peter about sailors and unlucky travelers who fell overboard, then were miraculously rescued by beings with tails that ‘kissed’ them by breathing air into their lungs. Subsequently, they were marked with the sign of Poseidon.

Peter touched the bruise as Stavros continued his story.

“The peoples, they are now connected with the mermaids, and if they are lucky, they can go live with them in their palaces under the sea.” The man winked at Peter. “Maybe you are lucky and can go live with your mermaid?”

Peter had to laugh. “Who knows. Maybe I will be.” Again, an image of Neal flashed in his mind – standing on the beach, then underwater, his majestic tail swishing back and forth. Peter banished the thought, chalking it up to the concussion. 

He was about to continue when Jones entered the room, followed by Neal, a concerned look on his face.

“Peter, are you okay? Jones told me what happened.” Neal sat on the edge of the bed and took Peter’s hand. “I should have been here.”

“I’m fine, Neal. Just a bit sore and bruised.” He smiled at Neal, trying to reassure him with his gaze that everything was okay. 

“Did the police find them?” 

“Not yet, but I doubt they will.” Peter hated to lie to Neal, but he didn’t want him to be involved. “It was a mugging gone bad, and those usually don’t get solved.”  
Neal didn’t look convinced, but seemed to accept Peter’s explanation, much to his relief.

“I checked at the nurses’ station and they are getting your discharge papers ready.” Jones handed Peter a bag. “Here are the clothes you wanted me to get. I’m sure you’ll be happy to get out of that hospital gown.”

“You have no idea.” Peter headed to the bathroom and changed into his street clothes. It felt so good to get out of hospital attire. When he exited, he saw Neal sitting on the other bed, speaking softly to Stavros. Neal murmured something to the old man - it sounded like Greek - but not the modern tongue. The old man replied and Neal laughed, lightly patting Stavros on the shoulder before getting up.

The nurse came in with Peter’s discharge papers before he could ask Neal what he was doing. “Are you ready?”

“Past ready.” Peter signed on the dotted line, and gathered his few belongings. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Stavros, although I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“You too, Peter. Be safe.” The old man looked at Neal with a secret smile before returning his gaze to Peter. “And good luck with your mermaid.”

“I have to take you to the car in a wheelchair. Hospital rules.” Jones’ comment interrupted Peter’s thought. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s fine. Let’s get out of here. I want to check the site.” Peter climbed into the chair and let Jones wheel him out of the room and towards the entrance. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. He needed to make sure the site was secure. 

And figure out a way to deal with Woodford without getting killed.

@*@*@*@*@

Jones helped Neal settle Peter back in his hotel room. Neal cringed in sympathy as Peter eased himself down onto the bed with a wince. Neal asked, “Are you sure you should be out of the hospital?” but it only earned him a glare from Peter and a chuckle from Jones.

“Yes, I’m sure. I can recuperate just as easily here as I can in a hospital bed.” Neal watched as Peter leaned forward to unlace his shoes, but hissed at the pain.

“Peter!” Neal put the bag of prescriptions on the end table. “Let me help.” He bent to assist Peter with his shoes, but got another glare.   
“Neal, I’m fine.” Peter waved him off.

“No, you’re not. Your ribs are bruised and you almost drowned! You are _not_ fine!” Neal knew he sounded petulant; but Peter’s injuries had shaken him to the core. 

“Yes I am.” Peter opened his mouth to continue, but Jones interrupted.

“You two sound like an old married couple.” Jones headed to the door. “Neal, Peter is a stubborn pain in the ass when he’s hurting. Don’t let him get away with it. Peter, Neal is just trying to help and you know you need it. So let him, okay?” He paused at the entrance. “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Peter sighed and looked at Neal. “Jones is right. I’m a bad patient.” 

“Then let me help you.” Neal smiled at Peter, accepting the unspoken apology. “Please?”

Peter sighed and glanced at Neal. “I guess I could use some help with my shoes.”

Neal knelt at Peter’s feet and gently removed his shoes and socks. Placing them off to one side, he stood and began unbuttoning Peter’s shirt. “Think you can slip into a t-shirt with my help?”

“Maybe, if we move slowly.” Peter shrugged out of the button-down.   
Neal sucked in a breath at the mottled bruises that covered his body. “Oh, Peter…” He lightly touched the one on Peter’s chest. 

“It’s okay. I’ve had worse.” Peter took Neal’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Besides, I have you to take care of me.”

“One day you’ll have to tell me that story,” Neal responded, walking over to the dresser and pulling out a soft grey tee. “C’mon, arms in front of you.” 

He helped Peter into the shirt, settling it on his shoulders and pulling the hem down. “Okay, stand up now.” Peter obliged. With a smile, Neal unbuckled Peter’s belt and unbuttoned the waist of his jeans.

“You know I can take my pants off myself, right?” Peter’s voice was wry.

“Oh, I know.” Neal kissed him softly and unzipped him, tugging the jeans down to Peter’s ankles. “Step out.” Peter complied, leaning on Neal’s shoulder for support. Neal tossed the jeans on the nearby chair. “Okay, now you’re going to get under the covers.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Humor me, okay?” Neal flipped the covers back and motioned for Peter to climb in. He noted Peter’s grimace and went to the minifridge to get a bottle of water. Twisting off the cap, he handed it to Peter and shook two pain pills out of the medicine bottle.

He held them out to Peter. “Take these.”

“I don’t...” Peter began, but hissed as he shifted on the bed.

“You do.” Neal’s voice was firm. “Doctor’s orders. Rest and pain medication, and if you get worse, it’s back to the hospital.”

“I’ll take them on one condition.” Peter sounded like a little boy bargaining with his parent. Neal couldn’t help but think how adorable it was.

“What’s that?”

“That you lie down next to me.” Peter looked at him hopefully.

Neal smiled. “I can do that.” He handed the pills to Peter and shed his own clothes until he was down to an undershirt and boxer briefs. Neal waited until Peter swallowed the medicine before slipping into the bed next to the other man. He gently pulled Peter close, spooning him as they got comfortable. “Is this okay?” Neal asked, wrapping his arms around Peter. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, it’s perfect.” Neal felt Peter relax as he settled into Neal’s embrace. Neal captured Peter’s hand and rubbed his thumb across Peter’s palm.

They lay like that for a while – enjoying the muted sounds of the ocean outside the window. 

“I was so scared.” Peter’s voice was so soft Neal barely heard it. “Between the helplessness of being restrained…the water…not being able to breathe…all I could think of was never seeing you again…” Peter trailed off and Neal felt his body begin to shake. 

Neal gently turned him over, tucking Peter’s head into the crook of his shoulder. The dampness of his t-shirt told him that Peter was finally reacting to the whole event. The shuddering sobs wracking Peter’s body tore at Neal’s heart and all he could do was hang on as Peter worked through his catharsis.

Soon it was over. Peter’s breathing calmed, his body riding out the aftershocks. He pulled back, wiping his eyes with his palm and gave Neal a watery half-smile.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was going to happen.” 

“It’s okay.” Neal kissed him. “I would have been more surprised if you hadn’t reacted. You needed that.”

“Yeah.” Peter paused, then began to chuckle. “You know what’s kind of funny about the whole thing?” He shifted to get more comfortable in Neal’s arms. “If there can be a funny thing.”

“What?”

“Right when I thought it was over and I knew I was going to die, you were there.” Peter smoothed Neal’s t-shirt over his chest almost as if he were soothing himself.

“Really?” Neal didn’t move, his thoughts whirling. He hadn’t been able to ask Peter what he’d remembered during his time under water. He’d hoped that Peter would write them off as hallucinations from oxygen deprivation.

“Yeah, you were right in front of me, smiling. And you had a tail – like a mermaid. Then you leaned in and kissed me.”

Neal inhaled sharply. Peter remembered their kiss. He remembered seeing Neal as Mer. Telling himself he had to keep calm, he regulated his breathing. “And?” he asked, hoping he sounded normal. 

“And then I woke up in the hospital.” 

“So it was just a hallucination then.” Maybe he could convince Peter that that’s all it was.

“I guess so.” Peter glanced up at Neal. “You know…Stavros, the old man in the bed next to me…he said I’d been saved by a mermaid.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said the mermaid kissed me and now I’m marked.” Peter pulled his shirt collar down to show him the bruise. “He said now we’re linked.”

“Interesting story.” Neal kept his tone even, hoping that Peter couldn’t feel the racing of his heart.

“Yeah.” Peter yawned. “So I guess that means you’re my mermaid.” His eyes fluttered shut and soon Neal could feel Peter’s breathing even out.

_My mermaid._ Neal gazed at Peter as he slept, and came to a decision. Neal would have to tell him the truth. He lay wide awake, Peter’s head on his shoulder, as the sun slipped below the horizon. Tonight, he would transform.

He just hoped he was doing the right thing.


	5. Chapter 4

The room was dark when Peter woke. He reached for Neal, but found the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. He rolled slightly and saw Neal sitting in the corner chair, his body in partial shadow.

“Hey.” Peter’s voice was gruff. “How long did I sleep?”

“A couple of hours. You needed it.”

“What are you doing over there? Come back to bed.” Peter patted the mattress.

“Actually, I’d like to take a walk if you’re up to it. I need to show you something.” 

Peter frowned. Something was off. Neal didn’t sound like – Neal. He sounded tense. “Sure. Let me get dressed.” He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, glad that he wasn’t feeling as sore as earlier, then slipped into a pair of boat shoes. “Where are we going?”

“Just down to the beach.” Neal didn’t say anything else, and again Peter was struck by his odd tension radiating from him. 

Peter locked the hotel room door and they strolled across the patio. He saw the table where Larson and Wilkes had abducted him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Neal noticed and took his hand, squeezing it in silent reassurance.

They made their way slowly to the shore, until they stood at the edge of the water, its color obsidian black, the waves breaking into pristine whitecaps. Peter took a deep breath, then another, repeating “It’s just the ocean,” over and over in his head.

“It’s just the ocean, Peter.” Neal caressed the back of Peter’s neck. “It didn’t do anything to you – the men who abducted you did.” The back and forth movement of Neal’s thumb calmed Peter. Neal was right – Larson and Wilkes were responsible, not the sea. He turned and wrapped his arms around Neal, pulling him in tight.

“Thank you.” He rested his head against Neal’s. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“Not entirely.” 

“Then what?” Peter frowned as Neal stepped away from him and began shedding his clothes. “Neal, what the hell are you doing?” Peter hissed. “Someone will see you!” He looked around to see if there were any guests loitering.

“It’s fine, Peter. No one else is around. This is what I wanted to show you.”

Neal had placed his clothes on one of the lounge chairs and stood naked before Peter. His skin glowed alabaster and perfect in the dim light spilling from the hotel. Peter watched as he walked into the waves, a reverse Venus returning to the sea.

When the water was waist high, Neal turned and faced him. “I was going to tell you this, but I think showing you would be better.” 

_Tell him? Tell him what?_ “Neal, what are you talking about?” Peter was confused. “What’s going on?” 

Neal rubbed his ear and murmured some words too low for Peter to hear. He stood tall as though he was waiting for something. Peter felt clueless about what was happening. 

“Neal…” he began, his words cut short as Neal collapsed into the water. Peter watched, horrified as the ocean churned around Neal’s body. Standing helplessly on the sand, he saw Neal’s anguished face, his mouth open in a silent scream as a large scaled animal breached the surface, plunging Neal underwater. The man and the animal writhed together, the sea roiling as they twisted around and around, going further out into the depths. 

He rushed forward, only to be brought up short by Neal’s guttural. “Stop!” before the other man sank beneath the waves again.

Peter halted, scanning the slowly calming water for Neal. “Oh god, _Neal!_ ” He couldn’t see anything. Kicking his shoes off, Peter waded into the ocean, frantically searching for any indication of where Neal was.

Nothing.

Peter was preparing to dive when Neal launched out of the sea, soaking Peter with the wake. “Neal.” He reached for the other man, grabbing an arm to keep him above water.

“Okay….I’m okay…” Neal was breathing hoarsely. “It’s over.”

“What’s over?” The words had just left his mouth when he was nudged by a large animal. Glancing down, he saw scales, muted in the water as it passed by him.

“Neal, look out!” Peter scrabbled back, pulling Neal with him. 

“No, Peter, no. It’s okay.” 

“Neal, there’s something in the water!” Peter looked around frantically but couldn’t see where the creature had gone.

“Peter, look at me!” The force of Neal’s voice had Peter locking eyes with him. “Peter, that’s not another creature. It’s me.”

“What?” Neal wasn’t making sense. “You?”

“Let go of me and I’ll show you.” Peter released Neal’s arm and the man drifted away from him, moving closer to the shoreline. 

As Neal headed into shallower water, Peter saw what looked like dark bruising beginning at his waist. It moved down his body, shimmering in the low lights from the land. 

It was scales. On Neal’s body.

Neal turned to Peter and smiled, flipping up what only could be a tail, fins translucent. 

“Neal…what...?”

“It’s me. What you saw.” Neal stretched out, showing Peter more of his tail. “I’m a Mer.”

 _A Mer._

Shocked, Peter stood still as the waves pushed against him, almost coaxing him to move closer to Neal. Suddenly it all made sense. The fresco with the image that looked like Neal, his in-depth knowledge of Mer fables, the look that Stavros gave him in the hospital…

“You saved me.” Peter blurted out the first thing in his head. “From drowning - that was you.”

“Yeah. That was me.” Neal replied simply. 

“How did you know I was in trouble?” 

“I didn’t. I was coming back to see you and I heard your voice on the boat. I saw them toss you overboard. You were sinking. I had to do something.”

“And the mark that Stavros told me about? Is that story real?”

“Yeah.” Neal ducked his head. “When a human is kissed by a Mer in their true form, it bonds them.”

Peter tried to process this information, but his brain was not cooperating. This had to be another hallucination brought on by the concussion. “Can I touch you?”

Neal’s voice was sad. “I’m still me, Peter. Just with a tail. Of course you can touch me.”

Peter reached a hand out and brushed it against Neal’s scales. They were warm and almost velvet-like, not cold and fishy as he might have expected. He could feel Neal’s muscles shudder under his fingers. He moved lower down Neal’s side, towards his tail and looked up at Neal for permission. Neal nodded and Peter splayed his hand over the tips of his tail fins, running them through his fingers. 

Neal let out a whimper and Peter snatched his hand back. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No.” Neal chuckled. “Let’s just say that the Mer like having their tails played with.”

“Oh.” _Oh._ Peter blushed even though he knew Neal couldn’t really see him. “So…um…can you move to shallower water so I can see all of you? You won’t get stranded will you?”

“Not if I stay in the shallows.” Neal moved to the shore and flipped over, leaning back on his arms and looking up at Peter with a grin. “How’s this?” 

“Good.” Peter gazed at him, cataloguing the subtle differences that he’d missed while he was trying to wrap his head around Neal being Mer. Neal’s skin was paler, lustrous, with an inner glow that definitely indicated that he wasn’t human. His eyes were slanted, and the look in them was ancient, something he’d never revealed to Peter before. His hair, always thick, was longer and curled against his neck.

But his tail – the blues and greens radiating across his body, the inherent power at rest – it took Peter’s breath away. Neal was beautiful and terrifying and it was all true.

The Mer were real. And Peter had found one. 

“Like what you see?” Neal’s amused comment brought Peter out of his reverie. 

He chuckled. “Yeah.” He could admit that with no problem.

“Actually, you’re taking this better than I thought.” Neal flipped himself back into the water and swam close to Peter. “Most humans freak out.” 

“Yeah, well.” Peter gestured at Neal. “I think I knew you were ‘you’ before you became ‘you’ if that makes any sense.” It didn’t really make any sense to Peter, but he hoped that Neal understood what he meant.

“Frighteningly, it does.” Neal paused. “So where does this leave us?”

Peter knew what Neal was asking. Now that Neal had revealed his true self, what did that mean for their relationship? “Honestly, I don’t know,” Peter replied. “Part of me is like a kid at Christmas and the other part wants to run screaming in fear.” He looked at Neal. “Can I have some time?”

“Anything you want, Peter.” 

Neal looked resigned and Peter knew that he’d hoped for a different answer. But there was too much that Peter had to think about and he didn’t want to make a rash decision. “Thank you.”

“Okay. How about this.” Neal paused, obviously running something through his head. “I have to go home, but I’ll be back in two days. One hour after sunset. We can meet then.” 

“Home? And that would be…?” Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“Atlantis,” Neal replied sheepishly.

“Atlantis.” Peter commented. “Of course. That’s real too.”

“Yeah, sorry.” 

Peter looked at Neal. He could see uncertainty and hope in the other man’s gaze. So he did the only thing he could think of to do. He wrapped his arms around Neal and softly, he captured his lips with his own.

They tasted salty from the ocean mixed with the familiar taste of Neal only _more._ It was heady, and for a moment Peter was willing to agree to anything. He pulled away reluctantly, resting their foreheads together. 

“Neal, I’m not saying no. I’m just saying I need some time. Okay?” He felt Neal nod. “Two days. We’ll meet back here in two days.”

“Okay.” Neal kissed him, the gesture a paradox of confidence and desperation. “Two days.” He slipped from Peter’s arms and with a splash he was gone.

Peter stood in the sea for a moment, searching for Neal in the black water, knowing he wouldn’t find him. Sighing, he turned and made his way back to his room. He knew he’d get no sleep tonight.

@*@*@*@*@

Larson watched from the shadows as Peter entered his hotel room. He still couldn’t believe what he’d seen. Burke had found mermaids. And the bastard was sleeping with one, if that kiss was any indication. Larson flipped through the photos he’d taken once he’d gotten past his shock and chuckled. He knew exactly what to do with them. Woodford would pay well for this, as well as the conversation he’d overheard. Lighting a cigarette, he sauntered to his car and drove away, plans already running through his head.

@*@*@*@*@

Two days later Peter was at his wits end. Time had never moved so slowly before. He swore to Jones that his watch was ticking backwards every time he looked at it. Jones just laughed and teased him about being twitterpated.

He and Jones were staying past the regular working hours simply because Peter needed something to do so he wouldn’t go crazy. They didn’t do any actual excavating, just straightened up the dig site and cataloged some of the artifacts they’d found near the fresco. 

Peter kept glancing at the art – at Neal. It helped knowing that every moment brought Peter closer to seeing him again.

Finally there was nothing else that they could do that didn’t constitute starting a new project. “Okay. I’ve kept you here long enough, Clinton. Let’s go. I can figure out what to do with myself for the next hour or so.”

“You sure?” Clinton finished wrapping up the extension cords. “We can go get a beer or something.”

“No. Go on and have fun.” Peter grinned at the speed at which Jones stowed the cords.

“I will. And Peter? Relax. You have nothing to worry about.” Jones clapped Peter on the shoulder on his way out.

Peter knew he was right. He was just anxious to see Neal again. He looked around the dig site and saw a few tools that still needed to be put back in their places. Gathering them up, he placed them in the bins in the supply area. 

Taking a look at the fresco one last time, he walked through the gate - a new addition since his accident – closing it and making sure the lock was secure. He had only taken one step away when he heard a loud crash and cursing. 

“Jones?” Peter shouted, running towards the area where he’d heard the crash. 

“Peter!” Jones called back. Peter could hear pain in his voice. “The walkway collapsed!”

As the dust settled, Peter saw Jones on the ground, pieces of the wooden walkway scattered around him. Jones was grimacing, holding his ankle.

“What the hell happened?” Peter crouched down and pulled Jones’ hand away from his leg. His leg was scraped up and Peter could see swelling beginning over the top of his boot.

“I don’t know.” Jones hissed as Peter gently touched his ankle. “I was headed up to the exit and I felt the supports give way. I jumped off to the side and felt my ankle crunch.”

“Yeah – I think it’s broken. We need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?” He began to put his shoulder under Jones’ arm but the other man waved him off.

“Check the supports first.” Jones pointed to the wooden posts. “I think they were tampered with.”

“Tampered with?” Peter looked over to where Jones was pointing but couldn’t see anything from where they were. “How do you know?” 

“I used to work construction in college. I can tell when something’s been messed with.”

Peter stood up and walked over to the area that Jones had indicated. On first inspection, he didn’t see anything, but as he looked closer, he saw cut marks and what looked like light burns.

“You’re right. It looks like someone cut the posts then put something on it to burn it so it would collapse when someone stepped on it.” Peter moved back to where Jones was sitting and helped him up. “We need to get your ankle looked at.” 

Slowly they made their way to the parking lot using an alternate route. Peter got Jones settled in the passenger seat of his truck, and drove towards the hospital, each man lost in his own thoughts. 

“You think Woodford did this, don’t you.” Jones broke the silence.

“Yeah….I’m certain of it.” He was. Very certain. It had Woodford’s stench all over it.

“But there was no way he would know when you would be on that walkway.” Jones shifted, hissing as his ankle bumped against the console.

“Doesn’t matter. I think he just wanted to shut down our portion of the dig. You know, to give himself more time to figure out how to get me out of the way. If it _had_ been me it would have just been perfect.” Peter swerved to avoid a couple on a scooter and winced at Jones curse. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. So what are you going to do?” 

“I need to call Dimitrios,” he said, referring to the site manager. “He needs to know what happened.”

“Are you going to tell him the truth?” Peter could feel Jones’s gaze on him. “About Woodford?”

“I have no proof. All I can tell him is that the site was tampered with.” Peter sighed. “I don’t know...” 

Their conversation halted as they pulled up to the Emergency room doors. Peter got Jones situated in a wheelchair and checked him in. “Are you okay here for a bit? I need to let Dimitrios know what happened at the site.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. There’s gonna be a wait anyway.” Jones chuckled. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Peter stepped outside of the Emergency Room doors and pulled his phone from his pocket. Dialing quickly, he waited for Dimitrios to pick up the phone. When he did, Peter explained the situation, reassuring the man that Jones was not severely injured.

When he told Dimitrios that the walkway had been tampered with, the other man began shouting and the only way Peter could calm him down was to tell him he would go back to the site and wait for the police. Disconnecting the phone, he walked back into the waiting room.

“Dimitrios wants me to go back to the site.” Peter ran his hand through his hair. “I told him that you hadn’t seen a doctor yet and I didn't know when that would happen but it didn't seem to matter. He wants me back at the dig to deal with the police until he can get there."

“Don’t worry. I figured you needed to get back and deal with the site so I called Phaidra to come babysit me. She’ll be here in a few.” 

Peter huffed a sigh of relief. “You’re okay with that?”

“Go. The sooner you get this all wrapped up the sooner you can go see Neal.”

“Shit!” In all the chaos he’d completely forgotten about meeting Neal. Peter looked at his watch. Nine thirty. If he’d calculated correctly, he had about 45 minutes before sunset. 

Jones chuckled. “Go,” he repeated. “I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks. Call or text and let me know what they say.” Peter headed out of the Emergency Room and climbed back into his truck. He knew he was taking the roads a little too fast, but he wanted to get back to the dig site so he could get things under control before he had to meet Neal at the beach.

Peter chuckled ruefully. Before, when he couldn’t get ahold of Neal, he cursed the man’s refusal to carry a cell phone. Now he knew why. His mind wandered – how _did_ they communicate in Atlantis? Just another question to ask Neal. 

That conversation was going to be interesting. Peter knew he was going to say yes when Neal asked him if they could be together – the two days without him had shown Peter that he needed the other man in an elemental way that he couldn’t explain.

The theory excited him. The execution – not so much. Peter wondered if there was even a way for him to visit Atlantis with Neal. He supposed so. After all, Neal had a way to be on land. Surely they had something that would give Peter the ability to live under water. 

He pulled into the parking lot of the excavation and turned off the motor. The police were waiting outside the main gate, the light bars on their cars flashing blue and red in the night. Peter squared his shoulders and got out of the truck. Jones was right, the sooner he dealt with this, the sooner he could get to the beach and see Neal. Being together was the most important part – they could figure out the logistics of everything else as they went.

Four hours and an irate site manager later, Peter was finally able to break away. Dimitrios was livid, cursing in a mix of Greek, English and some sort of Cretan dialect about how the vandals were lower than low and deserved to be fed to rabid dogs.

Peter had given his statement numerous times as the higher ups kept appearing asking for information. He wasn’t sure they believed him when he told them that he had no idea who might have sabotaged the walkway. Frankly, he didn’t care. He just wanted everything to be over with so he could head to the beach and meet Neal. 

He glanced at his watch as he slid behind the wheel of the truck. Technically he was two hours late. He knew that Neal had said he would try to make it, but Peter hoped he’d been successful and was waiting. He gunned the truck as he headed down the hill to the hotel parking lot. Kicking up gravel, Peter stopped at an angle, threw the truck into Park and grabbed the duffle with Neal’s clothes that he’d rescued from the beach two days before.

He all but ran to the beachfront, scanning the tides for any sign of Neal, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“Relax, Burke,” Peter told himself as he settled on one of the chaise lounges. “He said he might not be able to make it.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a text from Jones.

_Ankle busted. Getting a boot. What’s the update?”_

Peter texted back. _Done with police. Not sure they believed me when I said I didn’t know who did it. Waiting on Neal._

_Did you check the hotel?_

Peter mentally slapped himself. He should have called just in case Neal had gotten tired of waiting at the beach. A quick call confirmed that Neal had not checked back in yet. Peter left a message to call from his room when he arrived.

Sighing, he leaned back on the chaise and closed his eyes, trying to relieve the headache that was threatening to explode. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves soothed him and he felt his body start to relax.

Peter woke, stiff and sore, as the sun peeked over the horizon. _Shit!_ He’d fallen asleep waiting for Neal. He sat up, wincing at the tightness of his muscles. Looking around, he saw no sign that Neal had returned during the night.

Peter was not going to worry. Neal had said he would _try_ to meet Peter last night, not that he _would._ Something probably held him up. Still, Peter was disappointed. He’d wanted to see Neal’s face, his smile, when Peter told him ‘yes.’

Standing up, he found a thin piece of driftwood. Up in a lea of some rocks, he dug into the sand and wrote ‘Missed you. Come find me when you can.’

Satisfied, he headed to his room to shower and start his day.

@*@*@*@*@*@

The shower was exactly what Peter needed. The pounding of the water eased the stiffness of his muscles and sluiced away the dirt and grime left over from yesterday’s work at the fresco. Feeling sufficiently clean, he stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He stopped short at the sight of Larson sitting in the chair by the window.

“Hello, Burke.” Larson looked relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. 

“Larson. What the hell are you doing here?” Peter glanced around the room, looking for some sort of weapon he could use to protect himself. “Planning on tossing me overboard again?”

“Not this time.” Larson shifted, showing Peter the pistol he had in his hand. “I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“From who?” Peter didn’t move. He knew that Larson wouldn’t hesitate to use the gun if need be. And being in just a towel left him at a distinct disadvantage.

“Woodford. He wanted me to invite you to his home this afternoon.”

“Why the hell would I go to see Woodford?” The invitation made no sense. 

“He said it had to do with the fresco…oh and to let you know that your new friend would be there.” 

New friend? “Who are you…” Peter’s breath stopped. _Neal!_ Woodford had Neal. “You son of a bitch! If you hurt him…” Peter lunged forward, only to face the barrel of Larson’s gun.

“Relax, your friend is fine. And he’ll stay that way as long as you keep your cool. Woodford wants you there at noon. Don’t show up any earlier, don’t bring any weapons and don’t try anything funny.” Larson stood and walked toward the door. “And at the risk of sounding cliché, Burke, don’t call the cops. It will just make everything messy.” With that he was gone.

Peter slumped on the bed, head in his hands. Everything made sense now. The sabotage at the site. Neal not showing up for their meeting on the beach. Woodford must have kidnapped him. Helpless, he ran a hand over his face, his mind racing. Why would Woodford abduct Neal? He didn’t even know who he was. Peter stilled, his body going cold and his stomach rolling with nausea. 

Woodford didn’t know _who_ Neal was, but Peter was certain he knew _what_ Neal was. Somehow he’d found out that Neal was a Mer.

Peter quickly got dressed and rushed out the door. He needed to find a way to save Neal and he needed to do it fast.

@*@*@*@*@

Peter called Dimitrios on his way to the beach. The site manager told him that the police were no closer to finding out who had sabotaged the walkway but that they had given him permission to repair it. Peter reassured Dimitrios that the university wouldn’t sue and commented that he needed to update Woodford on the matter and did Dimitrios have his address. He hung up after getting directions to where Woodford was staying.

The beach was surprisingly bare. A few guests were lounging on the beach chairs and a short bald man with glasses was ankle deep in the waves. As Peter got closer, he heard the man muttering to himself. 

Peter saw his message to Neal tucked into the area of the rocks. He quickly brushed it away – no one needed to see it now that he knew Woodford had Neal.

Moving to the waterline, he looked to see if there was any indication of how Woodford’s men had captured Neal. Maybe that could tell him if Neal had already transformed before they’d abducted him.

“Where is he!” The voice took Peter by surprise. He turned and was confronted with the short man. “What did you do with him?”

“With who?”

“Neal.” The man poked Peter in the chest, knocking him back a step. “Where is he?”

“You know Neal? How?” Who was this person? “Wait. Are you a Mer?”

“Keep your voice down!” The man grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him off to the side. “I’m Neal’s advisor.”

“Why would Neal need an advisor?”

“Because he has court business.” The man’s tone was dismissive.

“Court business?” Peter paused, thinking. “Wait, that would make Neal a -”

“A prince,” the man interrupted. “He’s the crown Prince of Atlantis. He was supposed to come see you, then come back to the palace for an event. He never showed.” The man glared at him. “What did you do with him?”

“I didn’t do anything with him. Neal was kidnapped.” 

“What!” The man’s screech drew the attention of the sunbathers.

Peter shushed him. “We need to talk somewhere privately. Come on.”

He herded the short man up to his room. “Sit.” He gestured to the chair. “Okay first. What’s your name? I need to call you something.” The man sat down and looked at Peter in silence. Peter sighed. “Really? Look, you’re a Mer. I’m not about to go stalking you on Facebook.”

“You can call me Mozzie. And I have a different username for Facebook.” Mozzie took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. 

Peter shook his head in disbelief. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. But we’ve got a problem.” He filled Mozzie in on what details he knew about Neal’s kidnapping and the events leading up to it. “And so I have to be at Woodford’s house at noon which is - ,” he looked at his watch, “ – in an hour and a half. And I have no clue what I’m walking into.”

“I can help.” Mozzie grinned.

“How?” Peter had no idea how this man was going to aid in freeing Neal.

“That’s for me to know.” Mozzie walked over to the door. Opening it, he stepped aside, letting in the ginger cat that had been so friendly with Peter. The feline jumped on the bed and rubbed itself against Peter with a purr before sitting down and looking expectantly at Mozzie.

The short man began to make strange noises that, to Peter, sounded like hissing and meowing. The cat replied, chirruping and flicking its tail. The conversation was brief, ending with the feline hopping off the bed and making a beeline out the door. 

Mozzie turned back to Peter. “In deference to your limited ability to speak anything other than human languages, I’ll translate.” He gestured to the open door. “Nix is going to round up some of her connections and case Woodford’s house.”

“Her connections?” Peter was puzzled. “What do you mean by ‘connections’?”

Mozzie sighed. “The feline community. How else do you think I get my information?” He shook his head, muttering, “And Neal said you were smart.”

Peter chose not to take offense at that comment. “So you’ve been having her spy on me?”

Mozzie’s expression clearly said ‘duh’. “No one pays any attention to the cat population on the island. They’re the perfect network. In our case, they can do recon at Woodford’s place and give us an idea of what we’re up against. They may even be able to see where he’s hiding Neal.”

Though he didn’t want to admit it, Mozzie’s explanation made sense to Peter. “So what happens after we get the information?”

“We’ll free Neal.” Mozzie’s reply was simple and confident. “By the way, we’re going to need your assistant. Jones, right?”

“Yeah, but he broke his ankle. How is he going to be able to help?”

“He can drive the getaway car.”

@*@*@*@*@*@

“A Mer.” Jones looked over at Mozzie with a bemused expression. “As in fins and sea witches and Disney princesses?”

“Ariel’s voice was overrated,” Mozzie commented. “She just had a good publicist. But yes, that’s the general idea.”

“And Neal is a mermaid?” 

“A _Mer_.” Mozzie corrected, muttering ‘heathen’ under his breath.

Peter smiled slightly. He knew Jones was poking at the other man while he tried to wrap his head around what Peter had quickly told him.

“And Woodford kidnapped him because he found out.”

“Yes!” Mozzie huffed. “And we have less than an hour to get to his house and rescue Neal.” He snapped his fingers at Jones. “Get past the incredulity and get with the program. Time’s wasting!”

“Fine, I’ll want proof later,” Jones said, smacking at Mozzie’s hand. “What’s the plan?”

Mozzie actually had the grace to flush. “We’re waiting on intel,” he said.

“From who?” Jones looked puzzled. “Do you have someone on the inside?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Um…not quite.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Mozzie has a – network – of locals scoping out Woodford’s house. We should hear something soon.” A stern ‘mrow’ interrupted him. Peter looked down to see Nix pacing back and forth, her tail twitching in agitation. He leaned back to let her leap up onto the table.

She placed herself in front of Mozzie and let out a yowl followed by hissing and baring of teeth. Jones’ face was a study in disbelief. 

“Your information source is a _cat_?”

Peter shrugged. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Clinton, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. This is one of them. Just roll with it.”

Mozzie interrupted. “It’s worse than we thought. Woodford has Neal in a tank with a band around his fin. He can’t transform.”

“What do you mean he can’t transform?” Peter stared at the short man. 

“Nix said Neal has a band on his fin. I’ll lay you odds it’s platinum. It’s the only metal that affects us. We can’t wear it because it keeps us in our Mer form. Somehow Woodford found that out and is keeping Neal trapped.”

“Shit!” Peter clenched his fist. If Mozzie was right then rescuing Neal just got a whole lot harder.

“And it gets worse.” Mozzie rubbed his face in agitation.

“How?” 

“Once the band’s exposed to air, if it doesn’t get taken off almost immediately, it causes our lungs to swell and we can’t breathe.”

Peter’s chest tightened. Mozzie was right. In additional to rescuing Neal, they had to cut him free quickly or he would suffocate. He turned back to the men seated at the table. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“I have an idea.” Mozzie pulled out a notepad and pen. “Here’s what we need to do.”

Ten minutes later they had something and were headed on their way to set it in motion. 

Peter just hoped it worked.

@*@*@*@*@

Peter hesitated at the door to Woodford’s house. The plan they’d hatched was totally beyond the realm of reason, which was why he thought that it would be successful. The element of ludicrousness and surprise should work in their favor.

Squaring his shoulders, he knocked on the door. It creaked open, reminding Peter of a grade B horror flick. Peter cursed Woodford under his breath. It was just like that bastard to create melodrama to feed his ego. He stepped into the foyer, looking carefully around to make sure there wasn’t a trap of some kind.

“I’m in the house.” He spoke quietly into his collar. Mozzie had inserted some kind of mic in the seam so they could communicate. When Jones had asked where he’d gotten it, the little man’s answer was ‘Russian surplus.’ “No one in sight yet.”

Again Peter felt like he’d been thrown into one of the old horror movies that he’d watched as a child. Except that the bad guy’s guns were real and if this didn’t work, someone would get hurt – or worse, killed.

“I see you made it on time.” Woodford’s voice startled him. Peter turned and regarded the man in front of him. Woodford was smirking, a smug grin on his face that Peter wanted to wipe away with his fists. 

Calming himself, Peter replied, “I’m here aren’t I?” He stepped away from the door, pushing it closed but not engaging the latch. His ‘army’, for lack of a better term, needed a way in.

“Now, now, Peter. No need to be rude. We’re all friends here.” 

It was all Peter could do not to snort. “Your opinion, Allen, not mine.” 

Woodford sighed. “Won’t you come join me for a drink?”

“Where’s Neal?” Peter was in no mood for Woodford’s pretend civility. 

“Always cutting to the chase.” Woodford turned and headed into the library. “You know, a bit of decorum would go a long way, Peter.” He poured himself a glass of whiskey and took a sip. “It would make this all the more pleasant.”

“I’m not here for pleasant. Where’s Neal?” Peter breathed in deeply, trying to control his anger. 

Sighing again, Woodford put his glass down. “Fine. Right to the moment, it seems.” He gestured to Peter. “Follow me.”

Woodford led Peter to a room in the back of the house. It was large, paneled and had chairs set up with auditorium style seating. Video cameras were spaced around the area, all pointing to the curtained wall behind the podium. 

“What the hell is this?” Peter whirled and glared at Woodford. “For the last time, where is Neal!”

Woodford picked up a remote and pointed it at the curtain. With a click, Peter heard a whirr and the velvet parted to reveal a large tank. 

He gasped. “Neal!”

Neal was imprisoned behind the glass. He was pale, his body bruised. Peter saw the band cinched tight around his fin. Hurrying to the tank, he placed his hand on the glass. “Neal, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Neal nodded. He matched Peter’s hand with his own and Peter could swear he felt warmth seep through the glass. He turned to Woodford. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s actually very simple, Peter.” Woodford smirked again. “In approximately -,” he checked his watch, “- one hour, this room will be filled with some of the richest men and women from around the globe. Each of them will be bidding on the opportunity to own a real, live mermaid.”

“You’re _selling_ Neal?” Peter froze at Woodford’s statement. “You can’t. He’s a living being -” 

“He’s _art_ , Peter. Living, breathing art. And there are those that will pay millions for the ability to own that art.” Woodford gestured to something behind Peter. He turned and saw that Larsen and Wilkes had entered the room. “Misters Larsen and Wilkes will be your – companions – shall we say, during the auction. Just to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” 

Peter saw his two former kidnappers standing at the door, guns in hand. Larsen smirked at him while Wilkes stood, stone faced and dangerous.

He turned back to Woodford, glancing at the clock on the wall. Twelve-ten. He had five minutes to stall while Mozzie’s crew got into position. 

“Why I am here, Allen?” Peter was certain he knew the answer to that question, but he also knew that it would rile Woodford up just enough to get him talking. “You could have sold Neal and I would have been none the wiser.” 

“Because I want you to feel what it’s like to have something you want snatched away from you!” Woodford’s voice was angry. “Just like you took from me in Kerameikos , I’m taking from you now!”

“I didn’t take anything from you, Allen,” Peter said, moving away from Neal and a bit closer to the door. He needed to be in a better position when he gave Mozzie the cue. “What you were doing was illegal. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else who found out. And they might not have given you as much of a chance as I did.”

Woodford crossed the room and got into Peter’s face. “You self-righteous bastard! You thought that was a _chance?_ It took me years to build back my reputation! All because you had to play the good guy!” In his anger, he shoved Peter. “I hated you – watching you rise up the ladder like some, some prince! Taking what was mine. Well now it’s your turn to watch me.”

He spun back towards Neal with a laugh. “And once the sale is over, you’ll disappear and I’ll be there to pick up where you left off.” 

The sound of the clock pinging caught Peter’s attention. Twelve-fifteen. Time for the code word.

“You know he’s a prince, right?” Peter saw Neal’s shocked look at his statement and hoped he would forgive him. “The crown prince of Atlantis. They’ll come looking for him.”

Woodford was about to speak when there was a commotion coming from the front of the house. Barks and yowls and screeches filled the air as dozens of animals poured into the room. 

Dogs howled and snapped at Larsen and Wilkes, knocking them down to the ground. Cats raced around the room, jumping on furniture, climbing up drapes, knocking off books and knickknacks. Birds few in circles around Woodford, cawing and pecking at him. 

Peter grabbed the pistol that Lawsen had dropped when a dog had bitten him.

“Neal, move to the side!” Peter waited a hair to make sure Neal was as far away as he could be and began firing at the glass. It took too many bullets, but the tank shattered and Neal washed out onto the floor with the water. Peter dropped the gun and rushed over to Neal.

“Are you okay?” Peter checked Neal over, looking for any wounds.

“I’m fine.” Neal’s fin slapped lightly on the floor. “Just sore.”

“Good. We need to get you out of here. I need to carry you to the car. Mozzie’s there with something to get this band off you.” 

“Mozzie’s here? How?”

“Long story. Tell you later.” Peter hoisted Neal up over his shoulder and made his way to the entrance. The animals were still causing havoc, giving them an opportunity to escape.

Peter rushed through the entranceway and out the front door as gunfire began. 

His truck was in the driveway, engine racing, Jones behind the wheel. Mozzie was in the truck bed, gesturing frantically for Peter to hurry. Peter flipped Neal over onto the blankets they’d placed in the bed to protect Neal’s scales and hopped into the back with them.

The gunshots got louder. “Jones, go, GO!” Peter shouted as he saw Larsen and Wilkes tumble out of the doorway, surrounded by their animal attackers.

Jones floored the gas and the truck shot forward as the two men shot at them, taking out a side mirror. Bullets were flying as they drove down the gravel drive.

As Peter turned to Mozzie and Neal he felt a burning sensation in his side. Instinctively he touched it then brought his hand away, bloody.

He’d been shot.

“Peter!” 

He turned to see Neal’s horrified face as the world greyed and disappeared.

@*@*@*@*@

“Peter!” Neal shouted as Peter slumped against the side of the truck bed. “Mozzie, he’s hurt!” He flipped over onto his front and tried to pull himself towards the fallen man.

“Neal! You need to stay still or I won’t be able to get this band off you and you won’t be able to help Peter!” Mozzie pushed Neal’s shoulder so he would lie back in place and pulled out the cutter to remove the band. 

“But Peter…” Neal couldn’t breathe. Peter was pale, his skin gray. The side of his shirt was red, the stain growing. 

“I’m fine, Neal.” Peter’s voice was reedy and his eyes were still closed. “It’s just a graze.” Neal saw him put a hand to his side and wince. “Mozzie needs to get that off you.”

“We need to get you to the hospital, Peter! The band can wait.” Neal’s chest was tight and he felt like he was about to hyperventilate. He tried to gulp in air, panicking when the more he tried the harder it became. 

“No we can’t.” Mozzie’s voice was tight. “The platinum is reacting to the air. If we don’t get you back into salt water soon, you’re going to suffocate.”

“But Peter…” Neal said again, his voice trailing off. He knew Mozzie was right – he could feel his chest constricting with every breath.

Peter opened his eyes and gave Neal a small smile. “I’ll be fine, Neal. Promise. We need to get you to the ocean.” He closed his eyes again. 

Neal couldn’t focus, the lack of air making his thought processes blurry.

Mozzie made the decision for him. “Jones, turn left here! It’s a straight shot to a deserted beach!” He turned to Neal and put his hands on Neal’s face. “Breathe with me.”

Neal followed Mozzie’s breath pattern – in…out…in...out – and slowly felt the tightness ease. Within minutes they were at the beach. Jones pulled the truck up into the water. 

Mozzie scrambled off the end of the truck and Neal watched dimly as he shook Peter. “Peter, we need to get Neal into the water. Can you help me?”

Peter opened his eyes. Neal saw a look pass between him and Mozzie but his brain was too fuzzy to make sense of it. Peter nodded, slowly getting out of the truck bed. He and Mozzie wrapped their arms around Neal and prepared to lift him out of the vehicle. 

“Peter, are you sure?” Neal spoke softly, his breathing shallow. 

“Yeah…I can do this.” 

Neal felt himself being lifted and carried into the shallows. Peter and Mozzie set him down, the seawater sluicing over his fins. Suddenly, he could breathe again. Neal gulped in the air, grateful for every breath.

“Neal…gotta sit down.” Peter’s voice was faint. “Kind of woozy…” 

Neal watched in horror as Peter collapsed face first into the surf. 

“Peter!” Neal flipped over and grabbed Peter, pulling his face out of the waves. “Oh gods, Peter!”

Peter opened his eyes and looked at Neal. His breathing was shallow and Neal could see threads of crimson drifting through the water. “Neal…”

“No, no, no! Stay with me, Peter _please!_ ” He looked frantically at Mozzie. Mozzie, _do_ something!” But he knew there was nothing his friend could do. “Peter…”

“Love you, Neal. Never forget, okay?” Peter began to cough, specks of blood darkening his lips. He smiled, a mix of pain and happiness. “Thank you…for showing me…”

Neal watched, tears streaming down his face, as Peter’s eyes lost focus and his face smoothed out.

“Peter…” Neal gathered him close, rocking Peter’s still body against his. The sun slipped behind a cloud, throwing the beach into shadow as Neal succumbed to his grief.

@*@*@*@*@

Neal didn’t know how long he sat there holding Peter’s lifeless body, his tears mingling with the ocean spray. At some point he recalled that Mozzie tried to uncurl his fingers from where they were clenched around Peter’s form. He shouted at his friend and clung tighter to Peter as if letting go would cause Peter to disappear. Mozzie retreated and left him alone in his sorrow.

“Neal.” The voice was soft and gravely. “Neal…son…you need to let him go.” Neal turned his tear-streaked face up to see his father. The king stood next to him, his form silhouetted by the setting sun. 

“Father…” 

“He’s gone, Neal.” His father knelt down in the surf. “Let me take him.”

“No!” Neal gripped tighter. “You have to fix this. You can fix this!” He pulled Peter closer, feeling the chilled skin against his own. “Please…fix this…”

“Neal, I can’t -” his father began, but Neal cut him off.

“You can!” Neal shook his head. “Please...”

“Neal…” The king started again.

“Your highness.” Neal heard Mozzie’s voice, low and urgent. “There’s one way. It’s not optimal but it could work.”

“Theodore, you know I can’t guarantee its success. And there are other ramifications.” Neal’s father sounded sad.

“What is it?” Neal looked at both of them. “What are you talking about?”

The king sighed. “There’s an old spell that might work to bring your human back. But there’s no guarantee. And Neal, you need to know-”

“Do it.” Neal’s voice was hoarse. “Bring him back.”

“Neal, you need to know what it entails.” Mozzie repeated what Neal’s father had started to say. “It’s not all starfish and anemones” 

“I don’t care! Bring him back!”

“Neal. If I do this, you can never see your human again.” The king’s voice was solemn.

“Peter. His name is Peter.” Neal whispered. “And if this will save him, then do it.”

“Will you at least allow me to tell you how the spell works?” His father put his hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I won’t cast it unless you know.”

“Yes. Fine. Tell me.” Neal didn’t care. As long as Peter was alive, he’d suffer through anything. When his father was finished explaining, Neal nodded his head. “Do it.” He leaned down and kissed Peter’s cold lips, knowing it would be the last time they touched. Closing his eyes, he prepared himself for the pain he knew would come.


	6. Chapter 5

Sometimes it wasn’t good to be the King, Reese thought with a sigh. Looking down at the stacks of papers on his desk, he realized he needed a break from politics.

He got up to pour himself a glass of spirits when there was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he called, taking a sip of the amber liquid. Turning, he saw Mozzie enter with more papers. “I am not signing anything else this evening,” he said, holding up a hand to stop the other man before he started speaking. “I’m done for the night.”

“That’s fine. There’s nothing urgent,” Mozzie said, placing the papers on the desk and helping himself to a glass of what the King was drinking.

They drifted over to the window, both men comfortable in their familiarity. Reese gazed out over the palace grounds, watching as various retainers hurried on their respective errands. Schools of rainbow parrotfish floated by, their green and blue scales complimenting the pinks and yellows of the anemone beds.

His eye was caught by a figure moving slowly down one of the side paths. Even from here Reese could see the dullness of Peter’s scales. What should have been a deep chocolate and russet was muddy brown and rust. Peter moved like an old Mer, hunched over and worn. Peter paused at a bench, then sat down and stilled.

This was not good. If they didn’t take action, Peter would die. 

He tilted his head toward the window, grabbing Mozzie’s attention. 

“He’s fading, Theodore.”

“I know.” Mozzie sighed. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve gotten him a professorship at the college, set him up at the ruins in the older part of Atlantis…” He gestured at the man on the bench. “It’s been six months and nothing is working.”

“How’s Neal?” Reese missed his son terribly. “Is he any better?”

“Not really.” Mozzie drained his glass and moved over to the bar for a refill. “He’s walking with a cane now. I can barely get him to come to the office.” 

Reese rubbed his face. “Maybe the spell wasn’t the best idea.”

“Neal would be dead now if you hadn’t cast it.” Mozzie looked at him. “He’d have faded and followed Peter, you know that. At least we’ve had six months to come up with something.”

“But they’ve been miserable.” Reese tossed off the rest of the whiskey and motioned for more. Mozzie poured, not stopping at two fingers. “Keeping them separate has been the worst thing.”

“I know, Reese, but that’s the only way the spell would have worked. Neal had to become human so Peter could become Mer and let the magic save him.” Mozzie sighed. “I wish though, that there wasn’t that caveat that they had to be separated or they would die.”

“Sometimes I hate the old magic. It makes things so difficult to reverse.” Reese moved away from the window and sat down at his desk. “Have you managed to find a solution yet?”

“I think so.” Mozzie reached into his jacket and pulled out a small leather-bound book. “There’s another spell -” he paused at Reese’s snort. “- another spell that we possibly can use for them to be together.”

Mozzie’s tone was a bit off. Reese could tell that there was more to the spell than he might be happy with. “What’s the catch?”

“Um…,” Mozzie rubbed the back of his neck. “It requires a kiss.”

“Great.” Reese huffed and put his head in his hand. “I swear I don’t know what possessed the Ancients to use that as a spell component. And then that Disney fellow had to put it in practically _every_ movie...” He sighed. “What do we need to do?”

“According to the instructions, Neal and Peter need to be in the same place at highest point of the full moon. They need to give the gods an offering in the form of undying love, and if the gods accept, they will be transformed into the forms they will keep for eternity." 

“And of course that offering needs to be a kiss.” Reese paused, his thoughts buzzing. He held out his hand for the book. “When’s the next full moon?”

“In three days. I checked.” Mozzie gave him the book and pulled up a chair to the desk. “One question, how are we going to be able have Neal and Peter in the same space without setting off the earlier spell?”

“We’ll have to layer another spell over it.” Reese thumbed through the book. “Here – it’s a counter spell to suspend any current magic. We can use that.” He looked at Mozzie. “You go to the surface and talk to Neal. I’ll tell Peter. And hopefully, in three days this will all be finished and they’ll get their happily ever after.”

At least that’s what Reese hoped would happen, because the alternative was not something he wanted to think about.

@*@*@*@*@*@

Neal could feel the rays of the rising sun as they inched across his face. Warm and inviting, they coaxed him to open his eyes and greet the day. Six months ago, he would have reveled in its touch, because it meant that he was on land, a two-legged and that Peter was just a heartbeat away.

Now? Now that brightness was just an indication of how alone he truly was. Sighing, he opened his eyes and slowly sat up. His cane was hooked onto the nightstand and he used it to steady himself as he stood. 

He shrugged into his bathrobe – it seemed he was cold all the time now – and made his way into the kitchen. Mozzie had hired an older woman from Fira to make sure he was taken care of. She had his breakfast ready – a soft boiled egg and some toast – and gently fussed over him as he sat.

“I laid out your clothes in the dressing room this morning, Mister Neal. Mister Mozzie said you might be going into the office today?” She phrased it as a question, but Neal knew it was more like a statement about how he’d been closeting himself in his room.

“I’m not sure, Myrena. We’ll see.” He sipped the tea she’d brought him, it’s flavor muted under his tongue. Much like everything was since the night he’d lost Peter.

He knew the other man was alive. Mozzie kept bringing him updates, filling him in on Peter’s life in Atlantis. Sharing his successes in the university and on the digs. It was all Neal had of Peter now and it was enough. 

It had to be.

He placed his cup in the saucer, pretending not to hear the slight rattle as his hand shook. He missed Peter; his heart aching for him, so much that the pain in his legs seemed trifling. 

Sighing, Neal stood, leaving his breakfast mostly uneaten, and shuffled to the doors leading out to the porch. His chair, placed in the corner of the patio, still had the blanket on it from the day before. Gingerly he sat and wrapped its edges around him. 

He shuddered, feeling the consistent chill make its way through his body. Turning his face to the sun, he closed his eyes and called up his memories of Peter, laughing, his smile bright, the touch of his lips on Neal’s skin, their whispers of happiness and love.

A tear made its way past his eyelid and slipped down his cheek. 

He wouldn’t be going into the office today.

@*@*@*@*@

Mozzie found him on the porch hours later, still seated in the same position.

“Neal, I thought you said you were going into the office today?” His friend’s tone was the good-natured nagging that he’d done when they were in Atlantis. In the past it had never bothered him, but today…today – 

“No, I decided not to. There’s nothing for me to do there anyway.” Neal knew he sounded petulant, but frankly he didn’t care. The farce that Mozzie liked to perpetuate about the trading company was stupid anyway. It was just something that they had come up with to keep Neal occupied while he mourned Peter. Like he was going to wake up one day and his heart wouldn’t be in a million pieces.

He looked at his friend. “Why are you here?” 

“Because you need to get your ass up and get into the shower. You’re rank as week-old garbage and we have business to attend to.” Mozzie came over and tried to help Neal stand, but Neal batted his hand away.

“I can stand by myself. But what’s the point?” Slowly he stood up, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders. “We’re just going into the office and I’m going to pretend that I’m doing work. Then you’ll bring me back here and force me to eat something and then I’ll go to bed and not sleep.” He locked eyes with Mozzie. “I’m done with it, Moz. I’m tired and I just want to stop.”

“You can’t stop.” Mozzie darted in front of him as he shuffled into the apartment.

“Why not?” Neal eased back down into the chair in the kitchen. “Face it, Moz. There’s nothing left, okay? Peter’s alive and doing well and I’m…I’m…this.” He gestured to himself, indicating his thinning body, the cane, everything. “I’m done, Moz,” he repeated, resting his head in his hands and closing his eyes.

“Peter’s not doing well.” Mozzie’s voice was pained. 

Neal jerked his head up and stared at his friend. “What do you mean he’s not doing well? You told me he was fine. That he was teaching; that he had a dig going!” Neal’s chest tightened and he started coughing. Droplets of red spattered on his hand and he wiped them away on his robe. 

Mozzie quickly poured him a glass of water. Once the coughing stopped, Neal drank, letting the cool liquid soothe his throat. Only then did he look back at Mozzie, knowing his face was full of accusation.

Mozzie fidgeted under his gaze, finally breaking. “Okay, so I might have twisted the truth a bit…”

“Why? Why did you lie to me?” Anger swept over him at the fact that Mozzie had kept the truth from him. In a way he appreciated it. For the first time in six months, Neal actually felt the stirrings of an emotion that wasn’t sadness. 

“Because if I’d told you he was fading you wouldn’t be here now!” Mozzie shot back at him, his voice filled with anger. “You’d have given up completely. I needed time…” Mozzie trailed off.

“Time? Time for what?” What could Mozzie have needed to do that was worth the pain Neal had dealt with? 

“Time to find a way to bring you and Peter back together.” Mozzie sat next to him. “Your father and I have been searching through the libraries looking for _something_ to combat the original spell.” He sighed. “It took us this long to find something that would work.” Mozzie reached out and touched Neal’s hand. “Neal, I’m sorry we weren’t able to find anything sooner, I really am.”

“No…no…it’s okay. You found something?” Mozzie’s transgression was completely forgotten as Neal tried to fathom that there was a chance he would see Peter again. “And it will work?”

“We think so.” As Mozzie explained the spell, Neal began to chuckle, then full out laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Who’d have thought something as simple as a kiss would fix everything?” Neal smiled, for the first time feeling joy. “So when can we do this?”

“We need the full moon which is in three days.” Mozzie stood and called for Myrena. “But first you need to eat to build up your strength.” 

Mozzie had Myrena make him some scrambled eggs with cheese and watched as he ate the entire plate. Hope had the flavor returning and he found himself actually hungry enough for seconds. 

Mozzie smiled like a benevolent parent as he dished out more food. “And after this you need a shower and some rest.”

“Mozzie?” Neal paused, his fork in mid-air. “Peter knows? He knows I didn’t just give up, right? And he wants this?” Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a surge of uncertainty. What if Peter _didn’t_ want to be with him? 

“More than you know, Neal.” Mozzie was silent for a moment. “It was bad, Neal. Really bad.”

“Oh, Peter…” Neal blinked away the moisture that was threatening to turn into tears. “I’ve missed him so much, Moz.”

“I know, Neal. I know.” Mozzie patted his shoulder gently. “We’ll fix this.”

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Neal believed.

@*@*@*@*@*@

The moon glittered on the ocean, sending diamond-like refractions over the waves.

It was almost unreal, Neal thought at he made his way towards the beach. The black water, tipped with white as the waves broke over the shore. He’d forgotten how beautiful it was. 

Mozzie walked next to him, keeping an eye out just in case he stumbled. His cane was useless on the sand so Neal slowly put one foot in front of the other, balancing cautiously with each step.

“You okay?” Mozzie put a hand under his elbow to steady him. Neal would have shrugged it away before, but tonight was too important for his ego to get in the way.

“Yeah, I’m just…” He couldn’t even put into words what he was feeling – the hope, the longing – all centered where his heart beat in anticipation of seeing Peter again.

The sea breezes picked up, caressing his hair and pulling lightly at his linen shirt. Neal breathed deeply, the salt air bringing back memories of his family, of Peter. The ocean had been a painful reminder of everything he’d lost so he’d stayed away.

Now it welcomed him back like a lover. No recriminations, no remorse. Just the never-ending acceptance that the sea always seemed to share with him. 

“Mozzie…how long?” _How long before I see Peter?_ That was his unspoken question.

“Soon. We have to cast the counter-spell first.” Mozzie guided him a bit further, until the waves gently lapped at his bare feet.

“Moz, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand.” Already his legs ached and he felt off balance.

“Don’t worry. We made arrangements.” Mozzie pointed. Out in the small breakers was a boulder, it’s top slightly flat and suited for a resting place. “Your father thought you might need it.”

“Okay, what do I have to do?” Mozzie hadn’t really told him specifics, just that they’d found a way to circumvent the original spell. 

“Nothing right away. Let me get you situated. Then the first part is up to me and the King.” 

Neal allowed himself to be led to the rock, Mozzie supporting him as the sands shifted beneath his feet. He sat, allowing his friend to remove his clothes. Any other time he would be embarrassed to be naked in front of Mozzie, but not today. Today he welcomed the touch of the saltwater on his skin, the smell of brine in his nose. 

“I’ll need for you to hold this.” Mozzie gave him a stone bowl. Nestled in the bottom was an ancient gold coin and a piece of vellum with writing on it. Both items looked to be soaked in some kind of oil and Neal could smell the scent of olives and juniper.

“Where did you get this? I didn’t see you carrying it.” Mozzie just looked at him and Neal had to grin. His friend liked to keep his secrets on occasion. “Okay. Never mind.”

Mozzie pulled out a pair of scissors and cut a lock of Neal’s hair, sprinkling it over the contents of the bowl. “This is your part,” he explained. “Your father will bring Peter’s part to complete the ritual.”

“Which I’ve done.” Neal turned at his father’s voice. The King looked tired, but happy to see him. “Hello, son.” 

“Father…” Neal felt his voice crack as the emotions welled up. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” The King set the bowl he was carrying down on the rock and wrapped his arms around Neal. “I’m so sorry it took us this long to find a way to help you and Peter.”

“Thank you.” It was all Neal could say. He held on to his father, ignoring his lack of clothing. “Is Peter close?” 

“Yes. He’s under the waves deep enough so you won’t accidentally see each other before we cast the spell.” Reese picked up the bowl and turned to Mozzie. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, sire.” Mozzie took the bowl from Neal’s hands and waded back to the shore, the King following him.

Neal turned to watch them. He saw a large container, chalice-like, on the beach, partially in the waves. Its silver patina shone in the moonlight, the etchings on it playing in the beams. Mozzie stood to one side and his father, his fin transformed to legs, to the other. Neal could hear them chant but was unable to make out the exact words. He watched as they poured the contents of their bowls into the large container.

Mozzie struck a match and tossed it into the silver chalice. The flames leaped high, their colors blue and russet, not the typical gold and red of a natural fire. As the flames grew, so did the voices of the two men standing on the beach.

Neal felt the wind pick up, skittering the waves up onto the sand. The pressure in his ears changed as he saw the flames rise up from the chalice. They shimmered, growing taller as they spread out in a circle, curving and floating over him, blocking the stars and casting the moon in a misty glow. He followed the flames with his gaze as they headed out to sea and dipped down beneath the waves.

He felt rather than heard a definite _click_ as the circle closed, containing them in a glittery bubble.

The waters stilled for a moment, cut off from the rhythm of the sea, before rippling again.

Neal’s breath caught as he saw Peter rise from the water. He’d always scoffed at the human fairy tales that he’d read that described the first time they’d seen the Mer surface, but now he understood.

Peter was stunning.

His thick brown hair, longer than Neal remembered, lay against his head like a seal pelt. His skin, touched by the moonlight and the circle, glistened ivory. And his eyes – deep and dark and joyous as he looked at Neal.

“Peter…” Neal whispered.

Peter smiled and as he swam closer, Neal could see his scales. Chocolate and auburn rippled across his body highlighting his deep gold fins. 

Peter stopped, just out of reach, and gazed at Neal. His smile faded and worry replaced the happiness. “Oh Neal…”

Neal looked down at his failing body and flushed with embarrassment. He hunched down into himself. How could he let Peter see him like this?

“Neal…it’s okay.” Peter’s voice was soft and scratchy, like he hadn’t been speaking for a while.

Neal looked up at him. Peter’s eyes were the deep brown that he remembered, but they looked sunken and bruised. Skin that appeared ivory from a distance, was more sallow up close, and the point where his body morphed into his scales was grey-brown and dull.

“Oh, Peter…” Neal wanted to hold him, but he knew they couldn’t touch until Mozzie and his father began the counter spell.

“I know.” Peter looked down at himself then back up at Neal. “It’s been rough on both of us. But you are still the most beautiful man – Mer -” he paused and chuckled. “Being – I’ve ever seen.”

“And you make a lovely mermaid.” Neal smiled then began to laugh as Peter let out a snort. 

And just like that, things were fine.

“Here’s the spell.” Mozzie waded towards them with two pieces of vellum. “Read it over then I’ll explain what you both need to do.”

They took the vellum and Neal quickly glanced at it. “It’s in Greek.”

“I know, and Peter’s is in English. According to the spell, the lines need to be repeated one after the other.”

“Moz…” Neal saw Peter’s brow furrow. “This is ‘Love’s Philosophy’ by Shelley. How can it work as the spell? It’s too new.”

“It seems as though young Percy stole shamelessly from the Ancients.” Mozzie chuckled. “He must have had his own Mer.”

“Wait, Shelley knew the Mer?” Peter scoffed.

Mozzie raised an eyebrow. “What? You think he really died by drowning?” 

Neal grinned at Peter’s perplexed expression. “Will it work?” he asked, turning to his friend.

“It should.” Mozzie checked his watch. “You have three minutes until the moon is at its highest. When I say ‘start’, Neal, you go first and read a stanza, then Peter echoes. At the end, you need to kiss, and if the gods think your offering is pure, they’ll transform you.”

“And if not?” Neal could hear the concern in Peter’s voice. “What then?”

“Then you die.” Neal’s father came up behind them. “But I highly doubt that will happen.” He put his hands on both their shoulders. “I’ve seen your suffering and I have no doubt that the gods will accept your love.”

“What happens when they accept?” Neal was thinking positively. There was no other option as far as he was concerned.

“Then they transform you into whichever form they feel you should be in for the rest of eternity.” Neal’s father smiled. “If I’m lucky you’ll be in Mer form, and I’ll get my sons back.”

“Sons?” Peter looked at him in confusion.

“Yes, Peter…sons.” The King squeezed his shoulder. “I’ve felt as though you’ve been my son these past six months and once you and Neal can be with each other again, we’ll make it official. On land or in Atlantis. Wherever we need to.”

“Reese…” Neal could tell that Peter was touched by his father’s words. “I don’t…”

Peter was interrupted by Mozzie. “It’s time.”

Neal looked down at the words on the vellum and then back up at Peter. “You ready.”

“More than.” Peter smiled. “And Neal, no matter what happens, I love you.”

“I know.” Neal took a deep breath and then began the incantation.

“ _Oi vrýses smíxei me ton potamó,_  
Kai ta potámia me ton o̱keanó,  
Oi ánemoi tou meígmatos ouranó gia pánta  
Me éna glykó synaísthi̱ma;”

Peter echoed it in English.

"The fountains mingle with the river,  
And the rivers with the ocean,  
The winds of heaven mix forever  
With a sweet emotion…” 

The winds began to stir, whipping up little whitecaps on the water. Neal continued, his voice rising to be heard above the crashing of the waves.

“ _Típota ston kósmo den eínai móno,_  
Óla ta prágmata apó éna theïkó nómo,  
Se éna pnév̱ma synanti̱thoún kai na smíxei,  
Giatí den boró̱ me dikó sou?”

Peter responded, his voice strong, his gaze steady.

“Nothing in the world is single;  
All things by a law divine  
In one spirit meet and mingle.  
Why not I with thine?” 

They locked eyes, neither one needing to read the rest of the words on the pages. 

“ _Deíte ta vouná filí ypsi̱lí̱s ouranó,_  
Kai ta kýmata sfíngoun to éna to állo,  
Den adelfí̱ - louloúdi tha prépei na syncho̱retheí,  
An perifronoúsan ton adelfó tou;”

“See the mountains kiss high heaven  
And the waves clasp one another,  
No sister-flower would be forgiven,  
If it disdained its brother…” 

Peter moved closer. Neal could feel the heat radiating off his body, warming him in places that had been cold for far too long. He continued, his voice cracking with pent up longing.

“ _Kai to fo̱s tou í̱liou pórpes ti̱ gi,_  
Kai oi fengaroachtídes filí̱sei ti̱ thálassa,  
Ti eínai óla af̱tá ta glyká pou axízei to ergo,  
An esý den me filás?”

Peter was there, his arms encircling Neal, whispering the last part of the spell in his ear.

“And the sunlight clasps the earth,  
And the moonbeams kiss the sea,  
What is all this sweet work worth,  
If thou kiss not me?”

Their lips met, tongues chasing, desire, love and need crushing them together. Neal poured all his sadness, his hope, his despair from the last six months into that kiss and Peter responded in kind. It was like they had never touched, yet had known each other for millennia. 

An eternity – or maybe just a moment – later, Peter gentled the kiss, nipping at Neal’s lips, murmuring ‘I love you’ over and over. Neal replied with ‘Missed you so much,’ and ‘Need you’. He didn’t care what the outcome of the spell was. The fact that he was able to touch Peter, kiss him, hold him was good enough.

A moonbeam shot down from the sky and bathed them in a bright glow. The ocean waters roiled, crashing against them as swirling sand devils erupted on the beach.

Neal gasped as the pain in his legs disappeared. “Peter, I think it’s working.” He looked down to see his feet morph into a tail. Blue green scales emerged from the pale skin of his thighs. He felt strong, stronger than he’d been since the night Peter had gotten shot.

His eyes shot up and saw Peter, restored, just like he was. Strong, steady, his fins and tail lush and healthy. “It worked,” he whispered again.

“It did.” Peter pulled Neal into an embrace. “Oh God, Neal, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Neal burrowed his face into Peter’s neck, tears spilling. “Me too. Missed you so much.” He started laughing and wiped his face against Peter’s shoulder. He didn’t care how much of child that made him. Nothing was going to change the joy he felt. 

“Hey Neal?” Peter’s voice was low and happy. “What say we go home? I think the gods will let us go now.” He pointed and Neal followed his gesture.

The ocean had calmed and the moonbeam and wind had disappeared. Neal watched as the circle of flames slowly melted away to show the stars spread out across the sky. 

Neal turned his head and looked at his father and Mozzie. “Thank you. So much.” He felt Peter nod and heard him repeat the thanks.

“Ready?” Peter slipped his hand into Neal’s, their fingers entwining. 

“More than ready. Let’s go home.”

They plunged into the sea, their tails flicking once before sinking under the waves.

And the moonbeams kissed the sea…

_Fin…no pun intended_


End file.
